


The Devil Went Down to Georgia

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Deal with a Devil, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: "You don't have the right to keep him here," Leonard stated."I have a contract.""He didn't know what he was getting himself into.""Ignorance of the law has never been a defense. He belongs to me now.""What are the terms of the contract?""Oh, it's pretty standard. I hold his soul in perpetuity..."(or the time Leonard saved Bill from Hell).





	1. Chapter 1

_ If we say we that we have no sin _

_ We deceive ourselves, and we have no truth in us. _

\-- Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

_ Dublin, Georgia _

_ August, 1970 _

One wouldn't expect to find fine theater in a backwater town in Georgia. Especially inside of a stuffy, smelly tent. The stage was placed in the middle of the audience, and it might as well have been a dozen crates stacked next to each other, for as solid as it looked. Foldout chairs circled the makeshift stage, and behind them were benches made of wood and cinder blocks. Maybe the place would comfortably seat two hundred people. But the walls of the tent had been folded up, and there were hundreds more sitting on the grass, or milling around the perimeter. They couldn't see the stage from where they were, but that didn't seem to discourage them.

The  _ Doctor Faustus _ road show had been receiving positive reviews from tiny newspapers across the south. People who would normally never be interested in Christopher Marlowe showed up in droves. Perhaps the subject matter spoke to them, especially since Faustus got his in the end. Perhaps they were just bored, and the play provided three hours of cheap entertainment in the drowsy summer evenings. The most expensive tickets were five dollars, and they guaranteed a seat right at the edge of the stage. Everybody else paid just a few bucks, and some didn't pay anything at all. They showed up and mingled with the crowd, confident that nobody would send them away again.

Or perhaps it was the star of the show. A man who would attract attention no matter what he was doing or where he went. No, that wasn't right. He didn't attract attention. He  _ demanded _ it. He dared people to ignore him, but nobody ever took the challenge.

Leonard had paid his five dollars and even showed up early to claim his seat. He had a direct, unobstructed view of the stage. He had brought a newspaper with him, and he kept his head buried behind it while the rest of the audience settled in around him. Normally, he didn't mind when people recognized him and asked him for his autograph. In fact, he usually enjoyed it. He liked to hear what people had to say, and he enjoyed the small amount of influence he had in their lives. He made them happy. Maybe just for the moment of their meeting, or maybe for the next several days, but he had a power that few people could claim. A power he had no wish to exercise that night. He wanted to be anonymous in that tent. For a little while, at least.

The information he had could have been wrong. When he first heard it, Leonard thought it had to have been wrong. Which was one reason he had cleared a full two days from his packed schedule and caught a flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta. From there, he drove a rented car one hundred and thirty five miles to Dublin, pushing it just a little bit too fast, and hoping that if he did get pulled over, the cop would be impressed with his celebrity. Fortunately, it hadn't come down to that, and he had reached the small town with time to spare.

Flies droned around his head, fat and lazy in the heat. Leonard made a few efforts to bat them away from his face, fluttering the newspaper when they got too annoying, but it was an effort doomed to failure. There were too many bodies holding too many different types of food--people packed in their own but there were also vendors selling popcorn and salty pretzels--and the flies had nowhere else to go. The air didn't move. In fact, it weighed on him, making it difficult to concentrate. Either the traveling or the heat had given him a headache--red-hot blades sliced through his eyes and sinuses. To make matters worse, he was dying for a drink. He'd be shaking for one by the end of the show. Fortunately, he had passed two bars on his way into town. He'd do more than just pass them on his way out.

The performance might be in a tent, surrounded by the endless drone of flies and the merry scent of popcorn, but the locals did take it seriously. Perhaps too seriously, given how ridiculous the situation actually was. They wore their Sunday best, and they all held themselves with a sort of grace and confidence you might expect to see from a Broadway audience. Leonard supposed that for them, this wasn't a ridiculous situation. This wasn't some sort of strange farce. This was simply part of their lives--lives they didn't need to be rescued from.

But not everybody was meant for this sort of thing. He might not have been the best friend Bill Shatner ever had, but they had been more than just acquaintances. And he understood Bill. He might have been the only person in the world who truly understood Bill. Or he was the only person in the world who had tricked himself into believe he truly understood Bill. Regardless, he was the only person in the world who cared enough to rescue Bill from his own personal, living hell.

Leonard didn't know how long Bill had been playing Mephastophilis in the road show. Nobody did. He hadn't said good-bye when he left Los Angeles, and he may have been gone for weeks or months. Leonard had had some sort of vague idea that Bill had returned to New York. He'd had a solid career there once before, and he was a good, reliable actor with a broad range and a strong background. Why shouldn't he go back to New York? Once the thought occurred to him, he never questioned the wisdom of it. Not until he ran into Bill's ex-wife, Gloria, and she told him the truth. There was no Broadway play for Bill, just an old pick-up truck, his favorite Rottweiler, and a narrow stage under a canvas tent.

The only thing Leonard didn't understand was how Bill had made it all the way to Georgia. Gloria hadn't understood it, either. "His girls miss him. He calls, of course, but it isn't the same. I wish he would come back to California."

He knew something had to be going on--something more than Gloria let on--because Bill would never choose to be separated from his daughters for so long, and by so many miles. After three days, he convinced himself that he needed to go to Georgia so he could help reunite Bill with his family. There was no more to it than that. He certainly didn't have any personal reasons to track Bill down to a tiny town south of Atlanta. Besides, Bill didn't function well on his own. Some people did just fine by themselves, but Bill wasn't one of them. How many times had he found his way to Leonard's dressing room just because he couldn't stand the silence of his own? This was an errand of mercy, and he had no doubt that Bill would recognize that fact.

The lights strung above the audience's heads went dim, and the ones lined up around the stage flared to life. Leonard hoped that whoever was in charge of the wiring knew what he was doing, otherwise, it would be a very shocking experience for everybody in their metal seats. Leonard lowered his newspaper, quietly folding it and tucking it under his seat. Nobody even glanced his direction. If the reviews were right, Bill's performance would be so electric that nobody would even be interested in the stranger sitting in their midst. Leonard was counting on that.

The last time he had seen Bill was much like the first time he had seen Bill. Walking away from him, his head down, his shoulders slightly hunched, like he was looking for a fight. Leonard had watched from his Buick, sitting behind the wheel, keys in hand. His throat had itched with hundreds of words. Words that made up an infinite number of combinations. He could have shouted anything in that moment to catch the other man's attention. But he hadn't said a word. He remained silent and motionless, tracking Bill's progress across the lot. Even in his obvious anger, he had been beautiful. There was no other word for it. He wasn't the fresh, eager kid he had once been, but the years hadn't taken anything away from him. He had stopped to talk to somebody Leonard didn't recognize, and during the short conversation, Bill had smiled. There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about a smile, but Leonard remembered that moment vividly. He had smiled, and Leonard had believed everything would be okay.

Maybe that was where the fiction of New York had been born. He needed to tell himself something, otherwise he never would have started the car. He never would have been able to leave the studio, leave Bill behind, if he thought Bill really needed him. Not that Bill would have ever asked him for help. Even if Leonard had some to offer. In fact, he was certain that he was the last person on the planet Bill would ever want help from.

He had considered finding Bill's truck before the performance. But it did absolutely no good to talk to the man about anything before he was scheduled to take the stage. He might not have been a classically trained thespian, and he might not have any real sense of the different techniques other actors employed, but he had his own process. A routine. He didn't like that routine to be disrupted in any way, and Leonard had enough respect for him as an actor to leave him alone before the play began. He was probably making pennies, probably living off of whatever charity he could find, and probably hated every second of it, but he would still devote himself completely to the drama. That was just the sort of man he was.

Five minutes after the lights dimmed, the young man playing the part of the Chorus stepped onto the stage. Leonard hid his wince as the kid began to speak. He wasn't ready to be on the stage. He probably wasn't even ready to be somebody's understudy. Words like  _ Thrasimene _ and  _ audacious _ fell out of his mouth without a bit of grace. He held himself stiffly, like there were wires on the back of his shoulders, keeping him upright, controlling each of his movements. But for all of his oratory problems, his lack of talent, and his stiffness, it was easy to see why he was on the stage. Dark eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, and a trim, young body recommended him. He deserved to be on stage, if only so an admiring public could enjoy the view.

For years the critics had said the same thing about Bill. He was disarmingly handsome, and that had been both a blessing and a curse. It got him noticed in a crowd, to be sure. But it was also easy to dismiss him because of it. He also had a sort of charm, a way of smiling, that rendered any defense completely useless. He flashed a knowing smile that managed to be completely innocent. It conveyed  _ hey, we're both in on this wacky joke together _ and also imparted a sense of  _ I really need help and you're the only one who can do it. _ He probably could have had a career in snake oil, if he had been born a century earlier.

But the critics weren't exactly fair to Bill. He was attractive, no doubt about that. But he was also very good at his job. Maybe that was why they were all packed into a tiny space together. Not because Bill's reputation preceded him, but because Bill's work ethic demanded he put on a play, and by sheer force of will, he found his audience. Leonard didn't think it sounded impossible. Or even that improbable.

The man playing Faustus was only a few years older than he and Bill. He was also marginally more talented than the Chorus. He was about the level you would expect from a production like this. Competent without being dazzling. Surely he had not been the source of the praise in the reviews Leonard had read. Or maybe the people reviewing the play simply didn't know better? Without a broader context, perhaps they thought this was the pinnacle of fine art.

Leonard glanced around at the rapt faces. Despite the difficulty of the language and the complexity of the play, they were fascinated. They were not, however, simpletons. Leonard was quite certain they would know good work--good art--when they saw it.

He knew  _ Doctor Faustus _ quite well. He had been a part of three productions of it, and had had speaking parts in two of those productions. Once as Robin and once as Faustus himself. Beyond that, he quite liked the play, and had read several times purely for the pleasure of the language. He knew when Bill would be making his entrance, and he knew the first words Bill would utter. But somehow, simply knowing these facts wasn't enough to prepare him.

"Now, Faustus, what would'st thou have me to do?"

The line was delivered with a silky sort of cunning. Like he was Coyote, or Loki, and he already knew how this particular tale would end. No more than two or three yards separated them, and as Leonard tried to focus on the drama unfolding on the stage, his mind went to a very different place. To the memory of a similar question, a similar smile, but a different tone.  _ What do you want me to do? _ Words spoken with complete sincerity and desire.  _ What do you want me to do? _

Leonard closed his hands into tight fists, trying to fend off the ghosts now threatening him. It had been a year since Bill had looked at him with vulnerable green eyes, with a disgusted sort of helplessness.  _ What do you want me to do? _ It had been a year since Leonard kissed him in response. Showing him, rather than telling him. It had been a year since Bill failed to push him away, and a lifetime since they gave in to the lust that neither one of them had voiced until that moment. The desire that neither one of them had voiced again. Had it been a mistake? Leonard didn't know about that. He had been too deliberate with the decision.

It wasn't his mistake. It was Bill's.

Not for the first time, he wondered if that was why Bill had fled without saying good-bye, or even letting on that he planned to leave. Had he been ashamed of himself? Angry at Leonard? Disgusted with both of them? Had he been unable to look at himself in the mirror? Had it been impossible to meet Gloria's eyes?

_ What do you want me to do? _

Maybe Leonard shouldn't have responded to the question. But he had. Neither of them could change that. Even if they ran to the other side of the country and hid on a ridiculous little stage. Especially if they did that.

"Why this is hell, nor am I out of it." The cunning was gone from his voice. It sounded as though Mephastophilis had genuine regret, and yet, was utterly resigned to the reality of his existence. The line was delivered with such a heavy sense of desolation, with such abject loss, that Leonard felt a twinge in his chest. Had the character collapsed long enough to show a hint of the man? If anybody asked him, Bill would merely frown with confusion then insist he was only acting. That was all. Internalize the line and say it out loud the way the character would. As simple as that. Just internalize the emotions and then say whatever you think the other party wants to hear. That was a form of acting, too.

Bill was magnetic. Hypnotic. He owned the stage, and he owned the attention of every person in the audience. He wore the role with transformative ease. Nobody was watching Bill Shatner's interpretation of the infamous demon. Everybody was watching Mephastophilis himself, a devil with an uncanny amount of self-awareness and more than a little pathos. At a few points, even Leonard forgot that he was watching a coworker, a friend, and even a lover. At a few points, they were strangers again. Or maybe strangers forever. But then, there were a few moments when he saw his friend, really  _ saw _ him, and in those moments, understood everything about Bill.

In other words, Bill was a star. Too big for that stage, for that tent, for that town. Leonard didn't know what had brought him this low, but he was going to do whatever he could to fix it.

Everybody in the audience surged to their feet at the curtain call, clapping and shouting enthusiastically. Bill was the last to return to the stage and bow, and they thundered in response. Leonard vibrated from the force of their pleasure, and Bill smiled in response to the outpouring. A wonderful smile without a hint of guile. It seemed to come from deep inside of him, and it reached his eyes. He looked genuinely happy. Was that just acting, too?

Perhaps not. Leonard rose to his feet as well, applauding enthusiastically. As soon as Bill saw him, his expressive eyes registered shock, then confusion, and then his genuinely happy smile faded completely. Like somebody had flicked a switch. He deflated, right there in the middle of the stage. Leonard kept clapping, like everybody else, but no amount of applause could bring Bill back to life.

 

* * * *

 

All the locals lingered for autographs after the final bow, not the least bit perturbed by the long wait, or the fact that the star of the show was clearly exhausted. The younger audience members were especially impressed with his presence, and he watched as they eagerly jostled for a place in line, pictures and playbills and tickets and even a few  _ TV Guides _ clutched tightly in hand. Leonard remained in the shadows, hiding his face as much as he could, and praying nobody recognized him. It would have been embarrassing before the show, but now, it would have been mortifying. And it would have destroyed whatever hope he had of talking to Bill.

The bitter sense of competition hadn't always existed between them. In the early days, there had been no thought of counting fans, no debate on who was more popular, more important to the show. There was no threat of hostility and even open warfare because of the perks that accompanied fan loyalty. They had just been two actors, happy and excited to be getting regular work with a television series. Two actors with a certain level of respect for each other that could have, under other circumstances, opened up the door to a great friendship.

Leonard wasn't quite sure when everything had gone wrong. They both worked grueling hours on the set. The bond they forged from the joint experience had been undeniable, and even unbreakable. No matter what else had happened, they would always have that between them. It killed Leonard to think that something as simple, as stupid, as destructive as jealousy had wedged itself between them. Bill had been the star of the show, Leonard had never denied that. But by the end of the first season, Leonard was often cited as the heart of the show, and Bill could never forgive him for that.

Four years later, the show was over, no amount of fan loyalty would bring it back, and Leonard had signed on to another show, expecting his co-star to do the same. What had changed that? What had changed them? The question was disingenuous, and Leonard knew he would never actually speak it. If he did, Bill would either punch him in the face, or simply turn and walk away. If Bill asked him the same question, Leonard couldn't really say he'd have a different reaction.

The fans eventually dissipated, but Leonard still hung back, at a curious loss for words. He had traveled all of this way, at great cost and inconvenience to himself, and the closer he got to his actual purpose, the more he felt at a complete loss. He was there to coax Bill home, but what if Bill didn't want to go home? What if he thought he was home? What if he had chosen this life? 

But then, what if he hadn't? It must have felt like purgatory.

He half expected Bill to come to him. Or at least look his direction. But he did neither. He had a smile for each fan, a small joke, a thank you for each compliment. The man could be gracious when he wanted to be. Turn it on and off like he turned on and off his charm. It was another performance in a lifetime of great performances, Leonard was reasonably certain about that.

Since Bill refused to find him, he had no choice but to wait until the crew was dismantling the stage and then go in search for the familiar, battered truck. Bill also had a sweet little convertible, but that was probably parked somewhere. Or maybe he had signed it over to Gloria as part of the divorce. Leonard didn't know when Bill had bought the truck, but he remembered it being at the lot on the first day of shooting. In the back of said truck had been a giant, slobbering, mean-looking doberman. Leonard had later learned that the dog's name was Caligula, and he was Bill's giant, slobbering, mean-looking shadow. Over the next four years, Leonard and Caligula had come to an understanding about each other, but he still slowed his stride and held his hand out in what he hoped was a placating matter as he approached.

"Hey Caligula. Remember me? Your old friend, Leonard?"

The dog stared at him, his ears perked forward. That might have meant he recognized Leonard. Or it might have meant he was getting ready to tear his throat out. Leonard liked animals well enough, but he never did understand Bill's fascination, even obsession, with big, powerful dogs. Perhaps it was because the man didn't have the same sense of self-preservation that others had. Leonard wasn't sure that Bill experienced fear like regular people did.

"Who's a good boy? You're a good boy. Yes, you are." He doubted the dog understood him, but Bill always used to speak to strange dogs that way. It always worked, too, because he had never once been attacked and ripped to shreds. He took a step forward, and another, while the dog remained perfectly, utterly still.

For a moment, he thought he would actually soothe Caligula and reach the truck without the dog attaching itself to his throat. Until one hundred pounds of pure muscle sprang from the truck bed. Leonard froze, his throat closing, chills racing down his back.  _ Run, run, get the fuck out of the way. Run. _ Despite the way his mind screamed, his body refused to respond. He was rooted in place, helpless to do anything but watch as the massive dog raced toward him, lips pulled back in a snarl. The most he could do was raise his hands to protect his face, but a part of him recognized how pointless that small act was. If Caligula wanted to tear his face off, then Caligula was going to tear his face off.

Leonard braced himself for the expected impact, but at the last second, the dog swerved around him. He turned to see the dog stop at Bill's feet, staring up at him with all the devotion he had in his doggy heart. Bill pulled something from his pocket and held it out to Caligula, but the dog didn't respond. He didn't even look from Bill's face. After several seconds, Bill smiled widely.

"Take it."

The dog snatched the treat from Bill's palm and raced back to the truck.

"Did he scare you?" Bill asked casually, like he wasn't the least bit surprised to see Leonard there.

"Yeah, a bit."

"He doesn't attack without my orders."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's not."

"That was a hell of a performance tonight."

"Thanks." He crossed his arms and regarded Leonard with clear suspicion. "So why are you here? Did somebody send you?"

"No. I'm here because I wanted to see you."

"Yeah. Right."

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"We didn't exactly part on speaking terms, did we?"

"I don't...honestly, Bill, I don't really have a word for the terms we parted on."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No, I told you. I missed you. I wanted to see you."

Bill snorted. "You used to be a better actor than that, Len."

"Can we talk?"

"No."

Leonard blinked. He had expected a bit of a cold shoulder, but not an outright refusal to speak to him. "I'll buy you a drink."

"I can't talk to you right now." Bill tapped his watch. "I've got a phone call to make."

"I'll wait."

"What are you going to do? Keep Caligula company?"

"If that's what I have to do."

"No, you can come with me." Bill turned and gestured for Leonard to follow. "Gloria may want to speak to you."

"Why would she?"

"She's right at the top of my short list of suspects. Somebody put you on to my trail. It could have been her. It probably was."

Leonard wanted to ask just what the hell Bill thought he was doing. "She mentioned that you were working out here."

"And you had to come running to see what the hell I was doing?"

"No, I know what you're doing."

"What?"

"Working. Like you always do. Like you will always do. I'm just wondering why you're working out here."

"Do you really have to ask? I mean, wouldn't you jump at the opportunity to tour the south in the middle of the summer with a play like  _ Doctor Faustus _ ? I'm getting back to my roots."

Leonard studied the other man from beneath his lashes. He sounded serious. He looked serious. He also looked like an actor. Sometimes, Leonard worried that there was nothing else under the façade. Bill wore a mask to hide another mask to hide another mask. Other times, he knew he was completely wrong in his assessment. Somebody did exist under the mask. The problem was, Bill would never allow Leonard a glimpse of that man. Except once. When he asked  _ what would you like me to do? _

"What about your career?" Leonard tried.

"I don't have one anymore."

Leonard stopped. "What?"

"I don't have one," Bill repeated without missing a beat. He also didn't slow his long strides. "It's over."

"It's not over. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." He hurried to catch up, though he did just want to sit down and try to figure out just when Bill had lost his mind. "You're still young and..."

"Save your breath, Len." By then, they had reached the pay phone, and Bill begin inserting the coins. He had just the right amount of change for a cross-country long-distance call. "I have a steady paycheck right now, but it's pennies compared to what I was making before. I need to support three daughters and my ex-wife. If it were just me, I wouldn't mind starting over again from the bottom in New York. But it's not."

"Starting over again? But with your track record and reputation..."

Bill held the phone between his chin and shoulder and began dialing. "I have an agent, Leonard. There aren't any offers."

"But...how can that be? You're...you're a star."

"I'm nothing these days. Gloria? Hi. I'm sorry, I know that...what?"

Leonard watched as Bill's face transformed again. The mask of nonchalance he wore fell, shattered at his feet. Leonard's heart broke at the obvious pain in his friend's eyes.

"I know I was a little late, but it's only thirty minutes. Can't you wake up Liza?" He paused then nodded. "Yes, I know it's a school night, but I really need to talk to them. Gloria,  _ please. _ ..no, I understand. I'll call tomorrow night. Tell them I love them, okay?"

He hung up the phone with a solemn click, and stared at it for long seconds, as if he could will it to ring. As if he could somehow force Gloria to dial him back. Or maybe he was imagining his daughters, already tucked away into bed, their lives continuing without disruption while he desperately wanted to hear their voices.

"I'm nothing these days."

"That's not true. That'll never, ever be true."

"Go home, Leonard. Go back to Hollywood where you belong."

"I'd say the same to you."

"Then you'd be wasting your breath. Everything I own in this world fits in that pickup truck. I don't belong anywhere."

"I don't understand what happened."

"Really? I lost my show, my wife, and my best friend all within a month. Do the math."

"Are you...are you referring to me? You never lost me, Bill."

"You weren't there when I needed you. When I practically begged you for help. Don't deny that."

Leonard couldn't deny it. And he couldn't think of a single thing to say that could stop Bill from walking away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Hell hath no limits, nor is it circumscribed _

_ In one self-place; for where we are is hell, _

_ And where hell is, there must we ever be. _

\--Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

There had once been an apartment in New York that was no bigger than a shoebox. It cost Bill thirty-five dollars a week, with an extra dollar tacked on for every day the rent was late. He also paid an extra five dollars every week for water and heat, and the crazy old broad who owned the building had no problem shutting off the heat if he was ever delinquent. More than once, Bill had been forced to choose between freezing for a week or starving. Of course, that was only a problem during the winter. In the summer, his tiny shoebox turned into an oven. He never had to worry about starving in the summer, but heatstroke had been a very real risk.

He lived in that apartment for two years. At night he listened to the cockroaches and the rats. He listened to the whores in the rooms above and below his--listened to the sounds of sex and tears. Sirens wailed below his open window, and it was never dark in his little shoebox. Not completely. At some point during the mournful chorus surrounding him, he'd realize that he hadn't said two words to anybody the whole day, and nobody had acknowledged him at all. Even the jerk who had shoulder-checked him outside the television studio hadn't bothered to apologize.

That New York apartment had only been possible because he was working regularly. He took every job offered to him, no matter how large or small the role. Television, stage, or cinema, Bill didn't care. As long as he received his pay at the end of the day. Often, the parts didn't require him to interact with anybody besides the harried women in makeup. He didn't even speak to the director. Show up, say your lines, and leave without causing any problems. That's all they had ever wanted from him, and so that's what he did. He had never wanted to give anything more. He certainly didn't want to become attached to anybody when their paths would diverge again within days. He had coworkers he respected, but he never worked any one place long enough to have friends.

He left that squalid place as a newlywed. The new apartment wasn't a huge improvement, but it had two windows, an actual kitchen, and there were no rats in the walls. Bill had sat at his new table, in his new apartment, with his new wife who was wearing a lovely green dress, and promised himself he wouldn't take another step backward. There was no place to go but up.

Bill had been right about that, but he had failed to realize that once you were up, there was nowhere else to go except back down. To the back of a pickup truck that smelled of doberman, beer, and sometimes, skunk. A foam pad served as his mattress, and a folded coat was his pillow. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about a blanket, and he had nothing of value to steal. Still, it made him feel better to know that Caligula was standing guard. He did trust the dog with his life. What other choice did he have?

His thoughts had been turning back to the first New York apartment with more and more regularity. For a span of several years--several good years--he hadn't thought about that place once. If anybody asked him, he might have claimed he never lived at that address, on that floor, behind that thin and damaged door. But nobody ever asked. Not even Leonard. Not even when they were friends.

A man with a popular television series, a wife, and three kids shouldn't ever have the chance to be alone with his thoughts. Of course, he didn't have any of those things anymore. Even his daughters were completely out of his reach. They were already growing so quickly, and he would miss out on everything. Speaking to them for a few minutes every night, or every other night, was a very poor substitute for seeing them in the morning, for eating dinner with them every night, for playing with them on the weekends. He missed the weekly tea party he held for his youngest, Laurie, and all of her stuffed animals. She was fascinated by the process of making proper tea, and he had promised to teach her how to make her own.

There had once been an apartment in New York that had sucked his will, his joy, until everything was too hard and too cold. There had been more than one long, cold night when the only thing that stopped him from ending it all was the fact that somebody was counting on him the next day. His role in the show might not be of dire importance, but it was his job, and he couldn't imagine leaving a job unfinished. But he had been so tempted to put himself out of his own misery, with tears literally frozen to his cheeks. Those were the darkest nights of his life.

Until now.

Bill didn't cry. The tears were a frozen block of ice in his chest. He couldn't cry, even if he wanted to. He was just too numb. But the nights were longer, darker, than any he had experienced before.

The fact that Leonard was in town made the night even worse. Before he left for Georgia, he had only told one person where he was going, and why he was going to be there. Gloria needed to have some sort of idea where he would be, as well as the assurance that she and the girls would continue to receive support. He could have told others he was leaving town. He could have told them where he was going. But he didn't want anybody, especially Leonard, to know just how low he had sunk. He had enough problems without adding complete and utter humiliation to the list.

Not that Leonard would openly mock him. The man had far too much class for that. But from the moment they met, Bill had wanted Leonard's respect. He wanted the other actor to view him as a peer, and as a challenge. He wanted to prove that even without a formal background in acting, he was still a serious student of the craft. He wanted Leonard to understand that regardless of what the critics said, he did take the job very seriously. Though he supposed it didn't matter now. How could it? Nobody else in Hollywood took him seriously. Why should Leonard's opinion matter?

Bill knew the answer to that question, but he shoved it aside. He didn't like that answer, and he wasn't going to think about it.

Leonard did have too much class to mock his new place in the world, so what was he doing there? Did Leonard want to rescue him? Did he want to see the sad situation with his own two eyes? Did he think Bill had any sort of choice? His options were limited, his bank account empty. He had lost fifteen pounds since he left California, and he couldn't sleep. Did Leonard think he could help with that? He wouldn't even know where to begin.

Caligula stiffened beside him, every muscle in his powerful frame locking up. Bill caught his breath, straining his ears to hear anything out of the usual. He did have a gun, though he didn't actually have the stomach to shoot anybody. He did, however, have the nerve to protect himself and his dog. At first, he didn't hear anything except the sound of his own heart. Then the familiar sound of an engine rumbling sliced through the night. Bill relaxed. He picked a spot off the main road to make his camp for the night, but he wasn't completely out in the wilderness. A few cars passing by in the night weren't uncommon or unexpected.

The car didn't pass him by. Caligula stood on all fours, his chest vibrating with a series of low growls. Bill sat up, peering over the side. He didn't recognize the car, but in the glow of the cabin's interior light, he recognized the driver.

"Caligula, down."

The doberman instantly relaxed, but his attention was still locked on Leonard as he emerged from the car.

"Bill?"

"What?"

"Gloria just called me..."

Bill didn't wait for him to finish. He jumped to his feet, startling Caligula. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. But Laurie had a bad dream..."

Bill frowned. "She called you because my daughter had a bad dream?"

"Laurie just keeps asking for you. Gloria finally tracked me down, figuring that would be the best way to find you."

A knot tightened in his chest. Sometimes, that knot got so tight, he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe. It belonged to Laurie. It was a special pain that he only associated with his youngest daughter--the one that made him think he would probably die if anything ever happened to her.

"I'll need to find some change."

"No, they're waiting for you. Come back to my room."

Normally, he wouldn't put himself in that sort of position. He didn't want to risk getting too close to Leonard again. He couldn't trust himself. He wanted to tear himself open and let Leonard take anything he wanted. Bill thought he could resist that temptation, but not for long. Leonard made him vulnerable. But this wasn't a normal circumstance. His daughter needed him, and instead of gathering her up in his arms and rocking her back to sleep, he could only call her. Such a cold comfort. Not nearly good enough. Not nearly what she deserved.

"Do you mind if Caligula comes with us?"

"No, not at all."

Bill jumped from the back of the truck and slapped his thigh so Caligula would know to follow him. Leonard slid behind the wheel once more, and put the car into gear as soon as Bill was settled beside him.

"What did she say?" Bill asked.

"Not much. Just that Laurie had a bad dream, and she wanted to speak to you."

"Did she say if Laurie was crying or anything?"

Leonard shook his head. "No, but we didn't talk for very long. As soon as she told me what was going on, I went to get you."

"I wonder how many nights she needed me and there was no way to find me," Bill muttered.

Leonard opened his mouth, then seemed to rethink his words, because his lips smacked together and tightened into a frown. Laurie had been born the same week he had filmed the pilot for the series, and he remembered being absolutely convinced she was his good luck charm. He had been proud, too, because this was one little girl who would have everything she needed and never want for anything. He could give her the world. She called Leonard "Uncle Len" and at three she went through a phase where she demanded to see her Uncle Len every single day. Uncle Len never seemed to mind her impromptu visits with Gloria to the set.

"You know how it can be at that age," Leonard finally said. "There are still monsters living under the bed."

"The whole point of being a dad is to slay those monsters."

"That's not the whole point. You know that, if you didn't, you wouldn't be out here at all."

"You mean in Georgia?"

"Yes."

"I'm an actor. You'd think I'd be able to find some steady work in California."

If he had been any good, he would have. It was time to face one undeniable fact of the business. One that Bill had pointedly avoided most of his life. It wasn't enough to be dependable. It wasn't enough to always know his lines and always be on time. It wasn't enough to get the scene done right the first time. It wasn't enough to sacrifice his marriage on the altar of show business. Hollywood wanted something more from him, and Bill would have given it, happily, if he knew what it was.

"You will."

"Not if I don't go back."

"Then go back."

"And what will my kids eat then? Besides, I have a contract."

"I'm sure it's nothing you can't get out of."

"I probably could. That doesn't change the fact that I have three kids under the age of ten, and they're depending on me."

"Maybe I could..."

"Don't," Bill said flatly. "Whatever you were going to say, just keep it to yourself."

"But..."

"I'm serious, Len. If we were ever friends, you'll drop it right now."

"I only was going to say something because we are friends."

"I know. But that doesn't change anything. I still don't want to hear it."

"Pride goeth before a fall, you know."

"I've already fallen. Pride's all I've got left. So try not to strip it from me, all right?"

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. How much farther?"

"Not much. Do you sleep in the back of your truck every night?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you worried?"

"I have Caligula, and my gun." Bill didn't know if Leonard was just asking about his personal safety, or if he had intended to mean more with his question. Was he worried about his kids? Was he worried about his future? Was he worried that he wouldn't be able to claw his way out of his hole? He had done it once before, but he had been young then. And single. Now, he was neither.

"How many shows are you doing here in Dublin?"

"Three more over the next two days."

"Would you let me pay to put you up in a room while you're here? You'll have easier access to the phone. I'll pay for that, too."

"Leonard..."

"Would a gift from a friend be enough to destroy your pride?"

"No, of course not."

"Then just accept this in the spirit it was intended."

The hotel bed didn't promise to be any more comfortable than the back of his truck. But at least he would have a fan, and maybe he'd get a full night of sleep without reacting to every sound, every time Caligula's ears flicked.

"I will. Thank you."

"Accept breakfast in the spirit it's intended, too."

Bill frowned. Was there any subtext to Leonard's question? He hadn't even indicated that he wanted to do anything more than talk. Was he just going to pretend there was nothing else between them? Bill understood the wisdom of that. God knew he didn't need to make things more complicated than they already were. It would be difficult enough to watch Leonard leave without dredging up ancient history. Especially since the history wasn't that ancient, and occasionally, he still dreamt of Leonard's mouth, of the way they had touched each other. He still dreamt of waiting for Leonard's soft commands. His voice had been thick and low as his careful composure shattered, the ragged pieces of it slicing into both of them like glass.

"I never turn down a free meal," Bill said lightly, though it wasn't really any kind of joke.

"You're a wise man."

There were two motels in Dublin. One near the center of town, and one on the outskirts. Leonard was staying in the one on the outskirts, but that wasn't more than a five minute drive through the sleeping town. He parked outside a door marked with a faded seven and turned off the engine. Bill darted out of the car, but he had to wait for Leonard to unlock the door. It was difficult not to mutter for him to hurry the fuck up while he fumbled with the key, but then he was inside, and there was nothing between him and the phone.

The operator connected him to his wife's number without delay, and then he heard Laurie's sweet, small voice. "Daddy? Is that you?"

"It's me, baby. How are you feeling?"

"I had a bad dream. It was really scary."

"I heard. But remember what we talked about with bad dreams?"

"No."

"Yes, you do. Remember, dreams aren't...what?"

"They aren't real," Laurie said solemnly.

"Exactly. They aren't real."

"But it  _ felt _ real, Daddy."

Bill sunk to the edge of the bed. He half-noticed that the blankets and sheets were rumpled, as though Leonard had been trying to sleep when Gloria called him. "I know. What happened? Maybe if we talk about it, you'll feel better."

Laurie didn't respond at first, and when she did, her words were so soft he had to strain to hear them. "You were dead, Daddy. You had an accident."

Bill swallowed around a new lump in his throat. "Well, see? I'm perfectly safe here."

"No accidents?"

"No accidents. I think that you might just be scared that something could happen to me. But I'm going to be back soon."

"Mommy said you're not going to come live with us again."

His temples began to throb. "No, but I'm going to get a new house. So you can have your own room."

"When?"

"Soon. Soon, I promise. Now, you sound like you're sleepy."

As soon as he said the word, Laurie yawned widely. It was so easy to imagine her in her little pink nightgown, her favorite stuffed rabbit clutched in her hand, and her blonde curls in a snarly, crazy mess. Her eyes would be half-closed with exhaustion, and her cheek would be red because she always slept on her right side. Her nose might be red, too, if she had been crying.

"I'm not sleepy, Daddy."

"Yes, you are."

"Will you sing to me?"

Bill looked up at Leonard, who was reading on the opposite side of the room. Or at least, he was pretending to read. Bill appreciated the effort.

"Okay, just one short one, all right?" He took a deep breath then began, " _ Oh, I want to tell you something, I think you understand. When I say that something, I want to hold your hand... _ "

At first, she sang along with every word. She loved music, but she had an especial fondness for the Beatles. But about halfway through the song, she stopped singing, and her breathing became more regular. Bill kept going, unwilling to break the connection between them himself. He would just keep singing until her mother lifted the phone from her relaxed fingers.

He made it to the end of the song before Gloria said softly, "She's out like a light."

"Thank you for calling me."

"I think she really thought you were..."

"I know. Hopefully she won't wake up again tonight. But if she does...you can reach me at this number."

"Okay. Sleep well, Bill."

"You, too," he murmured before dropping the phone back in its cradle.

"How is she?" Leonard asked.

"She's asleep now. She said she dreamt that I was in some sort of accident. That I was dead."

Leonard winced. "Poor girl. But at least Gloria was able to get a hold of you."

"This time. You don't mind if I stay, do you?"

"No, not at all. I did come here to see you, after all."

"You still want to see me? I haven't exactly been nice to you."

"You're not usually nice to me."

The corner of Bill's mouth lifted. "That's not true. I remember once in the second season, I told you that you did a good job with your scene. And remember that time I let you bum a cigarette from me?"

"I can't believe I let myself forget that. I was wrong." Leonard returned his smile. "You're a prince among men."

"Damn right I am. What are you really doing here?"

"I couldn't believe it when Gloria told me." Leonard lifted one shoulder. "I thought...I thought there had to be some sort of mistake. I actually believed you to be in New York."

"Why?"

"Because you weren't in LA."

"I couldn't..." Bill rubbed the back of his neck, not surprised to find he was drenched in sweat. "I couldn't stay. I took the first job I could find that would get me the hell out of California. I didn't care where it took me."

"But you hate it."

"And you can tell that just by looking at me?"

"You want to be with your family..."

"I can't be with them. What did you think you were going to do? Drag me back to California? We can't...we can't go back in time. None of this can be undone."

"What if it could be? Would you want to?"

Bill blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"If I could wave a magic wand and undo the last five years, would you take that deal?"

"What are you saying? No series? No divorce?"

"Everything is reset to 1965."

"No, I wouldn't take that deal."

"Why not?"

His neck itched, and so did his back. It was the sweat, crawling down his skin, getting caught beneath his shirt. He needed an ice cold shower. "Why are we even talking about this? Do you have a magic wand?"

"No. I was just...curious. Just trying to make conversation. I don't know."

"I didn't know you five years ago, Leonard."

"I know...I didn't think you'd consider it that big of a loss."

"Look, I appreciate that you came out here to see me. I appreciate that you care enough to take the time to do that. But...I need time. I feel like I need to get my head all put together again. I used to know what I wanted, but now...I just feel numb. All of the time."

"That's not that unusual, Bill. You've had a stressful year. Anybody would be tired..."

"I'm not tired. It's so far beyond that, Leonard. It's so much more than that."

"Running away isn't the answer."

"Do you think I want my kids to see me like this? When this blows over, when I'm feeling better, I'll jump back into the insanity. I'll work every single day. But for now..."

"I'm just worried about you. I understand what you're saying, but..." Leonard tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Bill followed his gaze with his own, but didn't see anything worth looking at. It was just the sort of discolored, stained ceiling you'd expect to find in a place like this.

"Don't worry about me. I'm going to be fine. One way or the other. You know I always land on my feet."

"I'd feel better about that if you didn't sound like you were smiling to keep yourself from crying."

"I don't cry anymore, either."

Leonard trained his gaze on him once again. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"There's nothing open around here." Bill fell back on the rumpled sheets. He thought he could smell Leonard's aftershave, but maybe that was just his imagination. Especially since he always liked the smell of it. It was spicy and warm, like the clove cigarettes Leonard favored when he was still smoking.

"Do you want to go for a walk? We won't have to go far, if you don't want to leave the phone."

"Why?"

"I feel like I need to walk."

Bill didn't, but he also knew he wasn't going to be getting any sleep that night. He had told Gloria she would be able to contact him at that number, and he had every intention of keeping his word. Since he couldn't very well crawl into bed with Leonard--again--then that meant staying up all night in the chair, maybe watching the television turned down low.

"Yeah, let's do that."

Caligula was waiting for them outside the door, stretched out on his stomach, his snout resting between his paws. He looked like he was asleep, but as soon as they opened the door, he cracked an eye to survey the situation.

"Let's go for a walk, boy."

Caligula jumped to his feet as soon as Bill spoke, positioning himself at Bill's side, as if he held there by an invisible leash. He had had three dogs in Los Angeles, but when he hit the road, bringing Caligula with him was the most obvious choice. The dog was well-trained, intelligent, and probably the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He was also the sweetest, but Leonard still didn't seem to believe him on that.

"This dog loves you. You don't need to be so tense."

"I'm not tense," Leonard said stiffly, locking the door behind him.

"Yes, you are. Just pet him. He's not going to hurt you."

"I don't want to pet him."

"Pet him. It'll make you both feel better."

"Bill, I can tell that dog doesn't like me."

"That's just stupid. I know this dog better than you do, and I'm telling you, he likes you just fine. Just pet him."

Bill could see another protest forming, and he grabbed Leonard's wrist before he could actually speak. He had intended to guide Leonard's hand to the top of Caligula's head--he liked to have his ears scratched--but as soon as he was touching the other man, he forgot everything else. His skin was warm and damp from the humidity, and his pulse was fluttering against Bill's fingers. Had it been awhile since anybody touched Leonard? It had seemed like years since he had had the opportunity to touch somebody. It was hard to say how much Bill missed the simple, human contact.

He expected Leonard to pull away and demand just what the hell he thought he was doing. Bill braced himself for the furious question, but it never came. Instead, Leonard took a step forward, and the space between them narrowed to mere inches. Bill still didn't release his wrist. Leonard was solid. He was real. He wasn't a disembodied voice on the other end of a telephone line. He wasn't a dream, a memory, or a figment of his overactive imagination. Leonard was real, and more than that, it wasn't just a coincidence that he was there. He had come for Bill.

He was the only person in Bill's life who would make the effort.

"Leonard...I..."

"You don't have to say anything."

"I know. But I think I should anyway."

"It won't fix anything that happened."

"It might stop it from happening again, though." He tugged at Leonard's arm, pulling him even closer. Now his familiar spicy scent overwhelmed Bill. Would he taste the same, too? "And I don't want to hurt you again."

"Don't feel guilty about what happened. You were upset. Your wife had just packed the kids up and moved out. You weren't thinking clearly."

"No...no I was. That's the problem. For the first time, I was thinking clearly. I knew exactly who and what I wanted. It was the next morning...that's when everything got muddled."

"We shouldn't talk about this here," Leonard murmured.

"What? Why?"

"These walls are thin, and your voice carries. Come on. Let's walk."

Bill couldn't refute the logic. He also couldn't keep his hold on Leonard's hand, so he released him with a twinge of regret. But he still felt the heat from Leonard's flesh lingering on his skin, like a pleasant burn. They moved away from the motel, crossed the parking lot, and they naturally fell in step together as they walked down the silent road.

"Everything got muddled for me, too," Leonard finally said, once they were out of the reach of the glow from the motel sign.

"Do you think it was a mistake?"

"No. I wanted to. But...I knew what I was doing, and I can't honestly say that I regret it happened. I regret what happened afterward, obviously. But that night..."

Feeling bold, he entwined his fingers through Leonard's. Leonard didn't pull away. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me again."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I was so...pathetic. Practically begging you."

"You weren't begging me. You needed me. Why would I hold that against you?"

"Others would."

"I'm not them."

"I know."

"Bill...Come home. Please. You need to work again. Your kids need you. Hell, to be honest, I need you. Every time I go to the lot, I look for you. And I'm always surprised and disappointed when I can't find you."

Bill sighed. "I can't. I have a contract."

"Break it! I know that you have a strong work ethic, but this is ridiculous. You don't need to be caught in limbo forever."

"Oh, I'm not in Limbo, Leonard. Judgment has already been handed down. I'm in Hell."

"What are you talking about? You're in Georgia. Get on a plane with me tomorrow, and by this time tomorrow night, you'll be back where you belong."

Bill shook his head. "No. I have a contract."

"For fuck's sake!"

Bill sighed and released Leonard's hand. He unrolled his sleeve, revealing the mark on his wrist. "I have a contract."

"What is that?"

"It's a reminder. Didn't you wonder what possessed somebody to stage performances of  _ Doctor Faustus _ in Georgia, of all places? I'm damned, and this is my Hell. Forever. I don't get to leave it, Leonard. I can't."

"I don't understand."

"I made a pact with the devil. I don't know if I'm technically alive or dead. But he called in his marker, and this is it."

"A pact...what are you talking about? Bill, that's crazy."

"I didn't want my kids to freeze and starve in a rat-infested apartment. They, at least, will never know what it's like to go hungry. Go home, Leonard. You can't save me."

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_ Now, Faustus, must thou needs be damned? _

_ And canst thou not be saved? _

\-- Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

Bill was not a crazy person. He had his faults, and sometimes, he was unable to properly predict the consequences of his actions, but he wasn't crazy. Leonard felt quite confident about that. He had never suffered from delusions while they were working together, even though some sort of insanity would have been a logical reaction to the stress they had been under. He never behaved erratically. He was not unstable. He had his demons--they both did, of course. But there was never anything there to make Leonard think that Bill was at risk of going completely over the edge.

Now, he wasn't so sure. He had no doubt that Bill had been utterly sincere in his declaration. He thought himself stuck in Georgia, he thought himself damned. He thought he was in Hell, and who could blame him? But he seemed to be saying that the Devil was real, that the soul was real, that Hell existed. And Leonard just didn't think he could believe that.

"I think you need to start at the beginning and just tell me everything."

"Do you think that'll help?"

"I think it'll help me understand just what the hell is going on here."

Bill gestured at a nearby bench. "Let's have a seat then."

Leonard considered suggesting they return to his room. It was more private there. He certainly didn't want to risk somebody overhearing the entire discussion and calling the police, or the local mental hospital. Or worse, the local priest. But as they sat down, he realized that he hadn't seen another soul since the end of the play. Once they left the tent, they just disappeared. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, and he tried to distance himself from it. Of course nobody had  _ disappeared. _ They were just eating their suppers, and then they went to bed. Before dusk. In the sticky hot Georgian summer.

_ What are you thinking, Leonard? That the town doesn't even exist? Maybe you're the crazy one around here. _

Maybe he was. He certainly didn't feel like the sane one.

"I never told you about my place in New York, did I?" Bill started.

"No, you never talked much about New York at all."

"That's because I had nothing but bad memories. I moved there when I was twenty-one, and I had already been acting for four years at that point. I guess I thought that success and opportunity would sort of just fall into my lap. That it would be easy. I was young, and didn't really know any better."

"And of course it wasn't that easy."

"Right. The first place I stayed was tiny and it reeked of boiled cabbage, but actually, it wasn't too bad because I had a roommate. His name was Sean, and we didn't get along too well, but he was there. I wasn't completely alone. You know?"

Leonard nodded. That was why his marriage had lasted as long as it did. He didn't know if he and his wife were ever really in love, but he did know that he didn't like going home to an empty house. As long as she was willing to stay, he was willing to keep her.

"But he got a steady gig on Broadway and moved into a bigger place. The lease was in his name, so I had no choice but to find a new place, too. I was pretty bitter and resentful about his new job, and about being alone, and the only place I could find was awful. I hated it, Len. I hated being there. I hated everything about it. The day I moved in was the beginning of the worst time in my life.

"I didn't have any friends. Most of the time, I could barely afford to feed myself. It was always too hot or too cold. No matter how much I worked, I couldn't get ahead. I was stuck, spinning my wheels, getting deeper and deeper. I knew I was never going to get away from it. I was never going to catch my break. And I hated myself so much for being in that position."

"That sounds horrible." Leonard took his hand again. "I'm sorry."

"They were dark days. And then...I met Gloria. She was so beautiful, and I just felt drawn to her. I don't know what I would have done if she ignored me, but she never did. She was an extra on some television show. I don't even remember anymore. I asked her if she would go to LA with me because I had been offered a pilot. She drove across the country with me, and by the time we reached California, I knew I had to marry her. And so I did. No money, no real prospects, and I had to do some work I'm not very proud of to raise enough money to get us back to New York. I guess we were happy, then. But...when she told me she was pregnant, I knew I could never go back to that apartment. I couldn't do it, Leonard."

"But by the time she was pregnant with Liza, you were opening a show on Broadway," Leonard pointed out. "You weren't in danger of going back to that apartment."

"No, the fear came before the gig. That's when I...made my bargain."

"I still don't understand that. I mean,  _ Doctor Faustus  _ isn't real."

"I didn't call him to me, if that's what you're wondering. I didn't find any ancient spells or employ witchcraft or even pray to him. When Gloria told me she was pregnant, I excused myself and I just...I broke down. I was so afraid. I had always wanted kids, but I couldn't stand the thought of my baby sharing a bedroom with rats. And then...I got a phone call."

"Lucifer contacted you over the phone?"

Bill shrugged. "That's not even the weirdest part of this story."

"It's pretty weird. Where was he calling from?"

"I didn't think to ask. I mean, it's not like he introduced himself as the Dark Lord when I answered the phone."

"How did he introduce himself?"

"He said he was a friend. And he had an offer for me, if I was interested. Now, at that point, I was always interested. I didn't even care about the details. So I asked him what it was."

"And he asked you for your soul?" Leonard asked, not quite joking, not quite serious.

"Are you going to keep interrupting me? Trust me, this story will go faster if you just let me tell it."

"Sorry."

"He basically told me that he'd give me ten years of professional success, and provide a lifetime of security for my children, and all I had to do was sign over my soul."

"Why did you think this guy wasn't a crackpot?" Leonard tried to imagine receiving a similar call and he simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. For one thing, he wouldn't have stayed on the line long enough to hear the bizarre offer. But even if he had, he would have laughed it off.

"I  _ did _ think the guy was a crackpot. Do you really think that I thought for a moment I was signing over my soul? I know how crazy that is. So I told him sure, that sounded good, and I hung up. Apparently, that counts as an oral contract."

"What happens if you try to leave?"

"I can't."

Leonard sighed with frustration. "Yes, I know. The contract. But what happens if you try?"

"No, you don't understand. I literally cannot leave. When I try to get away from the road show, it's like running in place. Like I'm in that apartment again, and no matter how hard or how fast I run, I'm always stuck in place."

"You're right, I don't understand."

Bill ran his hand over his face. "Look, if I started walking down this road, I'd never leave the road. I would just keep walking and walking and walking."

"You can only travel with the rest of the production?"

"Exactly."

"And you're just going to stay here forever?"

Bill shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe he'll get tired of this and we can move on to Goethe's  _ Faustus. _ "

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that we can't walk out of here together."

Bill sighed, but he pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he had held anybody's hand before that night, but it seemed completely reasonable. Completely comfortable. Maybe Bill just needed the reminder that in that hour, in that place, he wasn't alone. Leonard didn't want him to forget it. He would never be alone. Leonard wasn't going to let that happen again. He had failed his friend before, but he wouldn't do it again.

"I did have a pretty good decade, though," Bill said conversationally.

"Was it worth this?"

"I don't know. You don't get something for nothing, right? I'd have to pay for that one way or the other."

"You have paid for it, though. Fuck, Bill, you spent ten years of your life paying your dues so you could enjoy some success. Why shouldn't you be able to do that like everybody else? Why do you think you need to pay and pay?"

"Because no matter how much I worked, it was never enough. Do you think I would have had my Broadway show, my movies, and  _ Star Trek  _  if I hadn't made the deal?"

"Well, we'll never know about that, will we?"

"No, I guess we won't."

They lapsed into silence--mostly because Leonard didn't know what else to say. Not a single fucking clue. Bill's story was completely outlandish. It didn't make any sense, and he had never heard anything like it. Was it really so easy to sign away your immortal soul? And did such a thing really exist to be signed away? Bill seemed to think so, but Leonard didn't know if Bill's judgment could be trusted. Had he been to a doctor? Maybe the next morning, that should be their first stop. Though, he didn't know how well that would go over in a small southern town. People there were superstitious enough that a declaration like Bill's might result in serious problems. Unlike Leonard, they would take him too seriously.

Leonard had grown up in the Bronx, and lived most of his adult life in Los Angeles. He was accustomed to bright lights, loud cars, and people being on the street at all hours. Two things he had never had a chance to grow accustomed to were perfect silence and perfect darkness. Neither existed in his world. He understood darkness and silence in the most abstract sense, but those things weren't real. They weren't concrete concepts. That is, they weren't real for Leonard until the two of them reached the Dublin city limits.

"There's nothing out there," Leonard breathed.

"No. There's not. It's just a...void."

Leonard reached out with his free hand. He didn't quite know what he expected. Maybe his hand would be consumed by the shadows. Maybe his fingers would touch something solid, like a completely black wall. Maybe he would touch nothing, and nothing would touch him back. The air was cold. Much colder than anything Leonard had experienced since his plane touched down.

"Here." Bill released his hand and pushed him in the back.

He took a stumbling step forward, and realized he could see again. Like blinders had simply been lifted from his eyes. He took one step, then another, and another. Each stride carried him farther from Bill and deeper into the Georgian countryside.

"Leonard, I can't see you anymore."

The words came from right behind him, but when he spun around, Bill seemed to be several yards away. And growing smaller. Without thinking, Leonard hurried back to his side and took his hand, unmindful of the shell of darkness that immediately closed around him.

"We'll figure this out, Bill. I'm not going to leave you until we do."

"Have you ever heard of anybody beating the devil at his own game?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Daniel Webster."

Bill's lips twitched. "I hope that you've got something else up your sleeve."

"I don't, but you did ask me for somebody who beat Lucifer. Come on, let's go back to the room. I don't think there's anything else we can do out here."

"You could just go home, you know. You don't have to be caught in this."

"No."

"Leonard..."

"No. I should have been here before. I should have been here for you sooner. I'm your friend, Bill. I'm not going to leave you."

"Thank you."

"I think you'd do the same for me."

"I would, but you wouldn't be stupid enough to get yourself caught in this situation."

Leonard wasn't so sure of that. He had the feeling that before too long, he would be caught in a similar sort of trap.

 

* * * *

 

There was no argument about sharing the bed. They both stripped down to their underwear and crawled under the thin cotton sheet. Leonard left the bathroom light on, and Bill didn't mention it. He might have found it as comforting as Leonard did.

Once they were in bed, things stopped being easy. Leonard lay straight and stiff as a board, his hands at his side. Careful inches separated them, and he wasn't sure why it was so important they kept that distance. Like either one of them had virtue to be kept intact. But he wasn't going to take advantage of Bill. Or make Bill think that he was only really there for one purpose. He didn't know if Bill  _ would _ think that, but the distance was still important.

"I think we'll need to talk to Smith in the morning. He owns the company. I have the feeling that I might not be the only one here in this situation."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not the only one with this."

He held up his arm so Leonard could see the mark again. This time, he couldn't stop himself from touching it. The dark skin was rough, like an old burn scar. Bill didn't pull away from the contact. He didn't even flinch.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It doesn't feel like anything at all. I think the nerves there are dead."

Leonard pressed his nail into the hard skin. "So you don't feel that?"

"No."

The distance between them ceased to matter. Leonard brought Bill's hand to his mouth and skimmed his lips over the mark. The texture should have been enough to turn his stomach, but it didn't bother him at all. "What about this?"

"No. I don't feel it...there."

He moved his mouth a half an inch lower. "What about there?"

"I definitely feel that."

"How does it feel?"

Bill paused, and then released a single syllable that told Leonard everything he needed to know. "Good."

"Good," Leonard echoed, brushing his lips over the same spot. He looked up as he did so, watching Bill's face at the moment of contact. He tasted of sweat and dust. His fingers curled into a fist, and the muscles beneath Leonard's mouth flexed. He remembered the first time he had wanted to kiss Bill. The second day of shooting on the pilot episode. Bill had made a joke--something completely immature--and laughed in such delight over his own cleverness that Leonard had been compelled to laugh, too. That's when he noticed he really like the shape of Bill's mouth.

"Leonard...I've missed you."

It wasn't the first time Bill had said it, but it was the first time the words were like fists to Leonard's abdomen. He turned on his side, and Bill moved at the same time. They faced each other, their heads bent forward with the sort of intimacy that was only possible in a strange, narrow bed. Bill touched the side of his face with a caress that was so light, so tentative, that Leonard knew he expected a rejection. Even at that point, he still thought Leonard wouldn't want him. Why didn't he understand that Leonard had always wanted him?

Telling him wouldn't do any good. Leonard would have to show him.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

_ Come Helen, come, give me my soul again. _

_ Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips, _

_ And all is dross that is not Helena! _

\--Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

Bill was a physical, affectionate person, and always had been. He barely had any friends, and before Gloria, there hadn't been many girlfriends, but once he was comfortable with a person, he wanted to touch all the time. He wanted to hold hands, he wanted to throw his arm around their shoulder, he wanted to touch their knee, he wanted to kiss them. That sort of desire had been mostly contained to his wife, but Leonard had always been different. Almost from the beginning, Bill wanted to smother him with attention.

For one thing, he had the most amazingly smooth skin. Bill didn't know if Leonard went through some elaborate ritual to keep his skin healthy, or if he was just blessed. As a child, whenever Bill found something soft, he had to touch it. It was a physical compulsion that literally made his hand move independently of his brain. Leonard had triggered that the first time they stood face to face.

Leonard also had these gangly limbs that made Bill think of a horse. They were much too long, really, but he was also extremely graceful. Every small action was graceful, even eloquent. He had imagined those long arms wrapping around his frame, holding him tightly. He had also spent far too many hours thinking of Leonard's fingers, and the way they would dance over his skin, until Bill couldn't do anything except whimper and tremble.

His mouth, though, was pure temptation. Every slow smile captured Bill's attention--especially because they were so rare on the set. Leonard had a great sense of humor, but while they were working, he was all business. Occasionally--very occasionally--something would catch him by surprise, and he would respond with that rare smile before he could catch himself. His teeth weren't perfect, and sometimes the makeup he wore and the hot lights chapped his lips, but Bill still wanted his mouth.

That desire increased when Leonard spoke. He had a deep, resonant voice. He spoke slowly and deliberately, and Bill wondered if that had something to do with his training as an actor. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that casting agents didn't like to hear an obvious Bronx accent. Each word slid down Bill's spine.

For years, Bill had tried to tell himself that everything he felt for Leonard was completely normal. The pit in his stomach wasn't from excitement and anxious anticipation, it was simply nerves related to work. Stress, not Leonard's proximity, caused the tremors in his fingers. Leonard's smile pleased him because of the novelty of it, not because his smile was often the highlight of Bill's day.

But when Leonard moved in to kiss him, Bill knew he was done lying to himself. Forever. Their first time together could have been nothing more than a fluke. A strange, though not entirely unlikely, fluke. But this kiss wasn't a fluke. Something had drawn Leonard to Georgia. Some greater force that Bill didn't understand had brought Leonard right to him. Like he had been praying for.

Bill parted his lips as soon as Leonard's mouth touched his, welcoming the caress. The first moment of contact washed away all the loneliness inside of him. When Leonard's tongue slipped into his mouth, he forgot about the cold, empty nights stretching behind him and before him. And when Leonard moaned, the block of ice inside of his chest melted. He shuddered from the release, feeling hot and cold at the same time. All the emotions that had been frozen there rushed through him, until he thought he might drown if he didn't clutch at Leonard with both hands.

He didn't know if Leonard felt the same sort of relief, but he knew Leonard felt  _ something. _ He put one large hand against Bill's back and pulled him closer, holding him tight as his tongue probed deeper into Bill's mouth. The kiss wasn't hungry, like a man who was just relieved and desperate for more, but it didn't lack passion. Bill had no doubt about how much Leonard wanted him. But instead of being clumsy in his passion, he was thorough. Deliberate. Like he knew where all of Bill's buttons were, and he knew exactly how to touch them to make Bill vibrate. Where had he learned this? Or was it just something he knew? An innate talent that had been left untapped until both of them snapped at the same time.

He dragged his fingers down Leonard's spine, tracing each bump and dip. When he reached the waistband of his underwear, he moved back up, rather than dipping his fingers beneath the material. Bill was happy to follow Leonard's lead and let himself get completely wrapped up in each long, scorching kiss. The contrast between Leonard's smooth skin and his hot mouth fascinated Bill. There were so many textures to sample, so many new parts to map with his fingers, to explore with his lips. He knew he didn't have time to do half of what he wanted to do--they only had a night together, after all.

Bill didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to remind himself that Leonard would go home, to his job, and his life, while Bill was stuck there for an eternity. He wasn't even sure if he even got to leave Dublin. He couldn't quite remember, and the uncertainty was maddening. Like a word that refused to be captured.

Leonard stopped kissing him long enough to murmur, "Bill." He didn't add anything after that, but he didn't need to. Leonard wanted him to pay attention, to be focused on the two of them. Which was nothing more than what Bill wanted. He resisted his dark thoughts, and focused his attention on the way Leonard's body felt against his.

Without breaking away from the kiss, Leonard rolled Bill onto his back and covered him completely. His already limited world narrowed to the man who pinned him to the mattress with the softest, sweetest kisses. The weight was comforting, and every inch of him that wasn't covered by Leonard felt cold. An impossibility in the stuffy motel room, with only a tiny fan to combat the restless heat, but true all the same.

Leonard pulled away from Bill's mouth, but only so he could focus on his chin, his throat, his ear, his cheek. Bill closed his eyes and tilted his head back, unable to do anything except soak in all the tenderness, all the pleasure, that Leonard could offer. He was adrift in it when Leonard put his lips close to his ear and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

Bill's eyes flew open. "What?"

Leonard lifted his head, regarding him with soft brown eyes. "You didn't hear me?"

"I did. I just...I wasn't expecting it."

"Why not? I'm here because of you, Bill. I want to please you."

"I don't think anybody has ever asked me that question in my life."

"Does that mean you don't have an answer?"

Bill shook his head. "No, I have an answer. I want you to fuck me."

Leonard's brows furrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." It was about the only thing he was sure of. He would regret it if he asked for anything else. This would be one memory he could hold onto no matter what happened to him.

"Then I will be right back."

Bill knew where he was going, but he wrapped his arms around him so he couldn't get up. "Not yet."

"It'll be better if I do this now. I promise."

"I know, but..."

Leonard kissed the top of his nose. "I'll only be gone for a few seconds."

Knowing he was being ridiculous, Bill dropped his arms to the bed, allowing Leonard to stand. He had looked exactly the same as always when he was dressed, but now Bill wondered if he wasn't the only one losing weight. Leonard's ribs were more visible, and the line of his hip a little more pronounced. There were also bruises down the back of his leg. Bill didn't need to ask where they came from--a stunt gone wrong. Leonard usually insisted on doing his own stunts, if he could, and sometimes, he paid for that.

He poked around his bag until he found the tub of Vaseline. Bill knew he traveled with it because of his chapped lips, but had any part of him thought that this might happen? Had he considered the possibility while he was packing? Fantasized about it on the long flight across the country? Or was this as much of a surprise for him as it was for Bill? Perhaps it was more of a surprise.

Leonard kicked off his boxers as he returned to the bed. Bill mimicked him, pushing his underwear down his legs and off the foot of the bed. He didn't twitch or fidget as Leonard studied him, but only because he was studying Leonard right back. His cock was already hard, and Bill wasn't surprised to realize he hadn't forgotten a single detail. He even vividly recalled the birthmark that was at the bottom of his shaft, partially obscured by black hair.

Bill caught his hand and pulled him back into his embrace. Leonard sank against his body without protest, their cocks sliding against each other, their limbs unencumbered by clothes. Leonard moaned into his mouth as they kissed again. How long had it been for him? He was a very popular actor, but he wasn't the sort of person to take advantage of his popularity when he was lonely. Sometimes, it just drove him deeper into his isolation. Bill understood that. But regardless of how long it'd been, kissing wasn't a skill that got rusty with lack of use.

Bill had been fucked before. Though not recently, and not by Leonard. It hadn't taken him long in New York to realize that young, attractive men could make some decent cash if they were willing to do certain things. Bill had only whored himself a few times, and only when he felt like he didn't have any other choice. And never after he started finding regular work. He did not need that sort of reputation, especially when even the rumors of a reputation could completely destroy his career. But from that, Bill knew what to expect. He also knew that it wasn't entirely an unpleasant experience--not that it ever could be with Leonard. Unlike the men Bill had been with before, Leonard would actually care to make sure that he enjoyed it, too.

Leonard managed to open the tub of Vaseline without taking his attention from Bill. He tensed as the familiar smell wafted around them, clinging to the humidity. By the time they were finished, the entire room would smell strongly of their coupling. Something about the thought pleased Bill. He was still thinking about that when Leonard's slick fingers slid between his thighs. The Vaseline felt like ice against his skin. He didn't know which was more shocking--the temperature or the fact that Leonard was touching him in a place, in a way, that had never happened before.

"Just relax," Leonard whispered. "I won't hurt you."

"I know." Bill gasped, before cupping the back of Leonard's head and dragging his mouth down for another kiss. He needed to muffle his moans against Leonard's lips. He didn't want the whole town to hear him, and he had no doubt that before too long that would be a very serious risk. One finger eased into his passage, and Bill's body immediately tensed, automatically trying to reject the intrusion.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," Bill said quickly. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

"We don't have to..."

"Leonard...I need you. I need this. Trust me."

"Oh, I don't doubt you at all. I just need to find a way to take your mind off things."

He moved down Bill's body, and the slide of his skin against Bill's made him erupt in goose bumps. He missed the pressure of Leonard's mouth, the weight of his body, but he didn't protest. He needed to let Leonard do whatever he thought was best. He needed to trust the other man, because he didn't want anything to mar this time they had together, especially if they were actually saying good-bye.

Leonard's method of distraction might not have been unique, but it was certainly effective. As soon as his hot mouth closed around Bill's cock, he didn't care what he was doing with his finger. Or fingers. He thrust his hips forward, automatically seeking more of that soft heat, and Leonard didn't resist. He relaxed his jaw and let Bill push as far as he wanted to. And then he just held him. For long, wonderful, blinding seconds. Everything was so still, Bill could feel the whisper of air across his skin every time the fan blew his direction. Each time Leonard exhaled, warm air fanned down his length and rustled the hair at his base.

Bill didn't know which one of them moved first. Leonard might have slid back, or Bill might have relaxed against the mattress. But everything shifted, and Bill had the strangest sensation that he was moving at somebody else's behest. Like their free will had been stripped. Or maybe it was just that his conscious brain was no longer fully in control of his body. His hips moved without direction, his hands grasped for something to hold onto, and his cock jerked in Leonard's mouth, the clear liquid at the tip coating his lips.

Leonard apparently didn't have the same sort of problem. He slid up and down Bill's length in an easy, thoughtful rhythm. His tongue wound around his shaft, teasing him. He didn't even feel the hint of teeth. Everything was perfect. Deliriously perfect. Something he could only imagine, but there was Leonard, his dark hair reflecting the faded yellow light, his long finger thrusting in and out of Bill's passage.

Just as he became accustomed to that strange friction, Leonard changed the angle of his finger. He pressed against Bill's prostate with unrelenting pressure. It hurt at first, but the pain exploded into pleasure, and he felt come shoot from his cock, though he hadn't actually orgasmed. Leonard moaned at the taste of the thick fluid and increased the suction around Bill's cock, coaxing every drop he could. Bill moved his hips, unsure if he wanted to twist away or beg for more. While he was caught up in the strange, heady sensations, Leonard slipped a second finger into his ass.

"What are you...what are you doing to me? Leonard?"

Leonard was too busy to respond to him. Not that he really needed an explanation. He could feel what Leonard was doing to him, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. Leonard pressed down again, this time with both fingers, and more come leaked from Bill's slit. The taste of it only seemed to make Leonard hungry for more, which made him suck harder, apply more pressure. Bill didn't know how much more he could take.

But apparently, he didn't get to have a say in how much more he could take. Every time he tried to speak, the words lodged in his throat. But even if he choked one out, it didn't do him any good. Leonard was ignoring him, all of his concentration focused on making Bill twitch and writhe and shout. At one point, he thought he might weep. Every nerve ending was on fire, every inch of his flesh burning. His stomach was fluttering, and his balls were pulled so tight against his body that he was surprised he didn't taste them. But Leonard expertly kept him from flying over the edge into oblivion. He held him back, somehow.

"Please...Leonard...please. I'm begging you."

The crippling suction left his cock. "Begging for what?"

For what? Why did he have to answer that question? Wasn't it obvious what he wanted? Fuck that. Wasn't it obvious what he  _ needed. _ He was going to break. All the pressure beneath his skin was too much. He was going to fly apart. Leonard was going to be guilty of killing him, and he had the nerve to ask what Bill wanted?

"Please, Leonard. Please."

"Please what?"

"Fuck me."

"You sure you're ready for that?"

"Yes!" Bill hadn't meant to shout, but he had never wanted anything so much in his life. The desire was a physical ache in his joints, and his throat, and even his toes. Leonard was the one responsible for this misery, and he was the only person who could ease it.

He also had the audacity to smile at Bill's outburst. "I just wanted to know you were sure."

"I'm sure. Come here." He sought out Leonard's mouth, surprised by the salty tang that still lingered on his lips and tongue. The taste of his own come, the fresh memory of how Leonard had coaxed it out of his body, just spurred his hunger. He needed more. He needed so much more. Why wasn't Leonard fucking him yet?

"This still might hurt a little," Leonard warned.

"I don't care."

Which was true. Even when Leonard guided his cock forward, the head pushing through his stretched muscle. It did hurt a little, but it was nothing compared to the pain he was already in. It was like a drop of rain compared to the force of a hurricane. Maybe that had been Leonard's master plan all along. If that was true, then Bill very much approved. He pulled his legs higher, hooking them around Leonard's back and using them to draw him forward. Deeper. Until he was completely sheathed.

"How's that?" Leonard breathed.

"Oh...oh...God...good. Perfect."

"Bill..." There was so much behind that simple word. It barely even sounded like his name. It was a declaration. It was a promise. It was a question. It was a moan of pleasure.

"This is what I wanted."

"I know. Me, too."

Now that Bill had Leonard inside of him, he didn't care what else happened. He let Leonard take complete control, setting the rhythm, moving in and out as his own pace. He kissed whatever skin he could reach, his tongue darting out to taste Leonard's spicy, salty sweat. He felt his blood throbbing just below the surface of his skin. They were both flushed and hot, and the friction between their bodies only made it worse. The sheet was itchy against his back, the rough material sliding against his slick skin, but instead of annoying him, it just added another layer of sensation to the experience. He felt raw, like he had been sanded down to his most basic self.

Their hands and their mouths locked together, and their bodies moved in complete harmony. Why hadn't they done this sooner? Why had they let anything stop them? Because there was no question in his mind that Leonard had thought of this. He had known exactly what to do, as though he had long ago created this plan and only now decided to put it into practice.

He might have asked Leonard not to stop. It was impossible to tell when he was actually speaking. His lips were swollen and bruised. Despite that, he couldn't stop seeking out Leonard's mouth. He even tasted the vague hint of copper on his tongue, but that wasn't enough to stop him from the hard caresses. He needed to be connected to the other man in every way. In any way that was at all meaningful.

Strong fingers wrapped around his shaft. He didn't want it to end too soon. He tried to tell Leonard that. It was too quick. He couldn't take it, but he didn't want it to end, either. His efforts went unnoticed. Leonard stroked him once, twice, and on the third time, the world broke apart. Everything swam out of focus, and Bill arched so far off the bed, he felt like he was floating. His hot come splashed his stomach and thighs, and his cock jerked again and again and again. Every time he thought he was done, he would shudder, and another long string would shoot from him.

"My God," Bill said thickly, his head rolling back. Leonard was still thrusting into him, but he was moving faster. All the tension had drained from his muscles, and his eyes were still unfocused. "My God."

He knew the second Leonard reached his own release. He shook from it, a small whimper escaping his throat as his cock shot deep in Bill's ass. Then he placed a small, almost delicate, kiss on the corner of Bill's mouth.

"How was that?"

Bill smiled against his lips. Or he tried to smile. The muscles in his face weren't responding well. "Perfect."

"Doing this really wasn't my plan when I flew out here."

"Oh?"

"Not my only plan."

"I'm glad we did. I needed something...everything's been so dark."

"Everything is going to get better." Leonard lifted his head and brushed damp hair from Bill's brow. "I promise you that."

"But if it doesn't..."

"It will. That's all you need to worry about."

Bill couldn't doubt him. Not while they were still naked and sweaty and entwined. In the morning, when his strange life in this strange world started over again, he would have his doubts. But at that moment, he chose to believe Leonard.

He closed his eyes and for once, sleep wasn't an impossibility.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

_ The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, _

_ The devil will come... _

\-- Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

Leonard had been a very serious little boy. He liked to play with the other boys, but he avoided mischief and fights. He never got in trouble--he was never even on the receiving end of a harsh word. Not because he had a particularly refined sense of right and wrong, or a strong moral compass, but because he didn't like to be in trouble. He intuited that it would be a pretty unpleasant experience. Just the thought of his teacher or his mother, or God forbid, his father, looking at him with disapproving eyes made his stomach churn. His face would flush, like he had a fever, and his eyes would burn. It never occurred to him that he might be physically punished. The thought of a swat to the rear was nothing compared to the sticky shame and embarrassment he would no doubt feel.

He managed to avoid all manner of trouble until he was nine years old. Then he learned that sometimes the temptation was just too great.

And temptation it was. Almost as if the Universe had conspired against him to create the perfect trap. It was the first day of fourth grade, and the school had been freshly whitewashed. There was a spigot on the side of the building, and somebody had left it on, creating a wonderful puddle of mud. His mother's warning to not get dirty had echoed in his mind, so he very carefully removed one shoe and skirted the edges of the puddle until he reached the spot where the mud looked the thickest and the darkest. With almost dainty precision, he dipped his shoe into the mud, and then began stamping his tiny print all over the pristine wall.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but when he stepped back to survey his handiwork, he realized he liked it. A lot. So he did it again. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he was quite certain that he would be able to get away with it. After all, he wasn't covering himself in mud, and it would be easy enough to clean his shoe when he was done. He was going in for his third pass on his strange canvas when a high pitched shout of terror literally stopped him in his tracks.

"Leonard Nemoy! What do you think you're doing?"

Mrs. Terranova hadn't given him a chance to explain himself. In fact, she didn't even give him a chance to put his shoe back on. She dragged him by the ear through the school yard, past all his gobsmacked classmates, and directly to the principal. He had been bewildered, embarrassed, near tears, and half shoeless. The shoe in question had been dropped somewhere along the way, and he never did find it again. But at the moment the principal's door closed behind him, he forgot about his shoe, forgot about his mother's likely rage, forgot about his classmates staring at him. His stomach had shriveled up into a hot stone, and he shrunk under the dark glare of the man who seemed big enough to crush him with one hand.

Leonard had never known fear like that day. As difficult as working in Hollywood was, he had never felt so insignificant, so breakable. There were plenty of people in the industry who could have destroyed him without batting an eyelash, but Leonard had never been afraid of them. Now, as he looked at the man Bill had identified merely as "Smith," he remembered that long-ago day, that muddy shoe, that hot pit in his stomach.

At first glance, Smith was a rather innocuous man of indeterminate age. He was a little bit pudgy around the middle, and he had large brown eyes swimming behind thick glasses. He didn't seem any more dangerous than a fly. Even his smile was disarmingly normal. He wore a sweater vest, a solid tie, and black, wrinkled slacks. He lived out of a tiny, cluttered camping trailer, with a kettle on the two-burner gas stove, and playbills and programs scattered across the table. The space reeked of rotting fruit and old socks. Leonard should have been confident, not terrified. But as soon as he stepped into the trailer, he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. A quick glance at Bill's face confirmed he felt the same way.

"What are you doing here?" Smith looked like he should be soft-spoken, but he wasn't. The words were loud and raspy, like he had gravel in his throat.

"I came to speak to you about Bill."

Smith stood up from the table and seemed to grow at least another five inches. His head touched the ceiling. "What about him?"

Leonard pulled himself straighter. Every instinct was telling him to get the fuck out of there, but Bill was standing behind him, and he had made a promise. He was not going to go back on that promise, abandoning his friend in the process.

"I want to take him home. Where he belongs. His friends and family miss him."

"No."

It was what Leonard had expected, but the tone was so flat, so final, that for a moment, Leonard didn't know what to say. The obvious response was to nod his head, thank Smith for his time, and then turn and walk out.

"You don't have the right to keep him here."

"I have a contract."

"He didn't know what he was getting himself into."

"Ignorance of the law has never been a defense. He belongs to me now."

"What are the terms of the contract?"

"Oh, it's pretty standard. I hold his soul in perpetuity. There's not really more to it than that."

"There's nothing he can do about that? No loophole?" Leonard wanted to sound as if he was doing nothing more than discussing the contract for purchasing a new car. But the fear was traveling, crawling up from his stomach to claw at his throat. The stench had been annoying before, but now it was gagging him. He was sure it was the sort of smell that would cling to his clothes and his skin. He'd be smelling it for days.

"No loophole. You think you're the first person that's come here, begging me to change my mind? That's not the way it works. Now..." His face darkened and his eyes glowed bright red. "Get the hell out."

"No."

Smith sank in on himself, his eyebrows pulled in a perplexed line. "No?"

"No, I'm not going anywhere until you give Bill back his soul and free him."

"Then you can stay here. I don't mind having another mouth to feed."

"Why acting?" Leonard asked, hoping that if he could keep the man--the demon--talking, he could find a loophole somewhere.

"What do you mean?"

"Why keep him acting? Why this play? Why here?"

"Oh, that." He waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing too diabolical, I assure you. But an eternity is a long time, and I've got to fill the hours somehow. When I get tired of seeing  _ Doctor Faustus _ performed, I'll assign a new play."

"How long do you think that'll take?"

Smith smiled, and his teeth flashed like silver. "Fifty, sixty years. Like I said, an eternity is a long time. You'll learn that truth soon enough."

"It was just a stupid mistake..." Bill started, but Leonard held up a hand to silence him. Smith wouldn't be swayed by that sort of argument, or by pleas of mercy. He had probably heard them all an infinite number of times. If he was who Bill claimed him to be, and Leonard had run out of reasons to doubt him.

"So, you've pretty much seen everything."

"Yes. You could say that."

"And in all that time, you've never let a single person out of their contract? Really?"

Smith sighed. "There's been a handful of people."

"What did they do to convince you?"

"Nothing you would be willing to do."

He might have been right about that. Leonard wasn't going to leave Bill there, but he was sure that Lucifer could think of acts more depraved than anything Leonard would ever want to participate in.

"What if I won his soul back?"

"What are you suggesting? A contest?"

He sounded more curious than dismissive, so Leonard nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"What sort of contest?"

His mind raced. He had been on the track and field team, but that was nearly twenty years ago, and he didn't think he had the speed or the moves he had as a teenager. He wasn't particularly witty, and he sucked at chess. He wasn't sure what sort of skills Bill brought to the table, but given his hobbies and his passions, they were probably the complete opposite of Leonard's. Except in one area. One area where they weren't evenly matched, but they were complementary.

"An acting contest. For the two of us."

Smith snorted. "What? An acting contest? Are you serious?"

"Have you ever had one before?"

A pause, and then, "No."

"So there is something that you've never seen? Interesting."

"Fine." He folded his arms in front of his chest. "But I set the terms."

"I'll accept that, but not if you're the final judge."

"I'll choose three judges," he said it so quickly that Leonard's stomach dropped. Like he already had the perfect candidates in mind, and it wouldn't matter if he personally judged the contest or not. "And the play."

"Okay. I want forty-eight hours to prepare."

"You may have twenty-four." Smith made a show of looking at his watch. "From now."

"What's the play?" Bill asked.

" _ Waiting For Godot. _ "

Leonard blinked. Then he laughed. "What?"

"That's the play I selected. Aren't you familiar with it?"

"Of course I'm familiar with it. I just...never pegged you for a Beckett fan."

"Oh, the Theatre of the Absurd. What's not to love?" he said it with a flourish, waving his hands in the air. A thin book appeared in each hand, as though he had pulled them from an invisible bookshelf. "Here."

"Do you want us to perform the whole play?"

"Yes. All the other actors in my company know it quite well. They'll be read with the other three parts."

Leonard looked over his shoulder to Bill.  _ What do you think? _

The other man shrugged, as if to say,  _ what else can we do? _

"If we're deemed the winners, then Bill gets his soul back and is freed from the contract."

"Is that what you want?" Smith looked over Leonard's shoulder. "Is that what you really want? Remember what my end of the bargain was. Your children are going to be financially secure for their entire lives."

Leonard tensed. He knew there was nothing the devil could offer Bill to tempt him personally. Money, prestige, success, fame--Bill would turn his back on all of it. He wanted to work, he wanted to act, but he had never done any of those things because he was self-aggrandizing. Of course, Lucifer was aware of that, too. Bill would do anything for his girls. Including damn himself for eternity.

"I can take care of my own children," Bill said softly. "Even if I have to shovel shit for eighty hours a week, I can take care of them myself."

"Be careful what you wish for," Smith sneered. "If the judges decide in my favor, Mr. Nemoy, then you belong to me."

Leonard moved in slow motion, holding out his hand to finalize the agreement. A part of him couldn't believe he was actually making a pact with the devil.

"You have a deal."

 

* * * *

 

"What did you do that for?" Bill demanded once they shut the motel room door behind them. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Bill..."

"I can't believe you...what the fuck were you _ thinking _ ?"

"I was thinking that I can't just leave you like this. I told you that I wouldn't, and I meant it."

"Great. You've come to rescue me. Now who is going to rescue you when he claims your soul, too?"

"He's not."

"Do you have some amazing trick up your sleeve? Because from where I'm standing, we're fucked."

"He's given us an out." Leonard waved the script in front of Bill's face. "Now we just have to take advantage of it."

"He didn't give us an out. He just wanted you to shut up and get out of his face. In less than twenty-four hours, he'll have my soul, your soul, and he won't be out anything by indulging us our hope."

Leonard sighed. Bill's pessimism was warranted, but he wasn't going to give in to it. This was their best shot. He was going to make it work, even if Bill fought him every single step of the way. "You know better than that, Bill."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"It's a trick. I know that much. That's how he works. It's a trick, and he's probably laughing at us both right now."

"Let him laugh, then! This is a job like any other. Are you going to sit here and complain about it, or are you going to do what you've always done?"

"It's not a job like any other. It's...look, I could accept being stuck here forever. I can't accept  _ you _ being stuck here forever."

"Don't accept it. I don't want to lose my soul. But we can do this. We must do this. Just look at it as another job."

Bill sunk down to the edge of the bed, looking completely distraught. His body was a study of the word misery, and the frown on his face was so deep that Leonard didn't know if it could ever be erased. Leonard knew Bill was ignoring every word out of his mouth, in favor of his own tormented, guilty thoughts. "It's not another job."

Leonard sat beside him. The bed dipped, but Bill didn't move. He didn't even look up. "When you were in New York, you usually didn't even have a full twenty-four hours to learn your part, right?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I got a script the morning of the day of the performance."

"But you still learned your part."

"I memorized the whole script. I always did," Bill said dully.

"And you always put in a solid performance."

"This is different, Leonard! Can't you see that? This is different."

"How is it different? If you fucked up a live performance of a television show, that would have been it for you. There were plenty of actors in New York, and producers weren't going to tolerate fuck-ups, right? Every single night, you were fighting for your career. That's a lot of stress, and not everybody could take it."

"My career, not my...not  _ your _ soul."

"I don't think there's that much of a difference. What would you have done if you developed a reputation of ruining live performances? All you ever wanted in your life was to act. Bill...look at me."

He dragged his gaze from the opposite wall and focused on Leonard's face. His usually vibrant eyes were a dull shade of green, and Leonard could tell that he was resisting the temptation to look away again. He caught Bill's chin, forcing him to remain focused. He wanted Bill to hear him and understand, because he wasn't sure how else to get through to him.

"I have faith in you, Bill. The reason we always worked, the reason the show worked, was because I trusted you and your instincts. I still do. I wouldn't do this for anybody else or  _ with _ anybody else. So you've got to hold it together for me now. Please."

"Leonard..."

"Please. Even if you can't trust yourself, just remember that I trust you."

Bill studied his face for several long seconds. Leonard looked back, unblinking and unflinching. He wasn't holding anything back from Bill. He didn't know what Bill was looking for, but maybe he found it, because he leaned forward to press their mouths into a soft kiss.

"I will. I won't forget again," he murmured against Leonard's lips.

"Good."

They needed to start preparing and rehearsing as soon as possible, but once he tasted Bill, he couldn't bring himself to break away. Instead, he wrapped his arm around the other man and pulled him into a closer embrace while he deepened the kiss. Bill responded immediately, his succulent lips parting in invitation, his tongue sliding against Leonard's.

Every time Leonard considered breaking the kiss to get to work, Bill would do something to make him change his mind. Nothing big or dramatic. His teeth would catch on Leonard's lips in a tiny nibble, or he'd moan with undeniable hunger. Leonard had known a variety of men and women in his life, and he enjoyed sex. That might have been an understatement. He loved it. But he never met anybody who made him as weak and hungry for physical contact as Bill did. He never met anybody else who completely overwhelmed his senses and clouded his mind.

He was in a cloud now. A thick fog that obliterated the rest of the world--even the frightening parts. As their kiss deepened and continued, his body flared to life. His cock hardened, and he couldn't breathe normally. He already felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from his body, leaving him gasping and trembling. Leonard didn't think it was normal to be so affected by a kiss. But then, there were many things about his current situation that was nowhere close to normal. When it was all over, he'd probably to seriously reconsider what the word even meant.

Leonard did try to make a gesture toward good sense and break the kiss, but at the loss of contact, Bill chased his mouth, refusing to let him go. The only way to get free would be to literally push Bill away from him, and he just couldn't do that. He couldn't imagine a scenario where he would ever willingly push Bill away--not now that he had found him again.

That put a twist of fear in his chest. If they won Bill's freedom the next day, what would happen? The same thing that happened before? If the judges ruled in the devil's favor, would the two of them be damned together? He could think of worse things than being with Bill, than acting with him, for an eternity.

The thought was darkly seductive. Nobody and nothing would ever come between the two of them again. They could ride from performance to performance in Bill's truck, and sleep wrapped around each other in the back. Their days would be filled with each other, and their nights would be spent doing the thing they both loved best.  _ Doctor Faustus _ was a good, interesting play, and the audience was always respectful. Would it really be so bad? The two of them could be happy. They could make a paradise out of hell.

Leonard almost said as much, but the full weight of what he wanted to suggest struck him just before he formed the words. Even if it worked out exactly as he imagined--and he had no guarantee it would--then he was essentially asking Bill to be happy never seeing his girls again. He would miss them growing up into women, he would miss each milestone of their lives, and he'd miss his grandchildren. Bill deserved those things, more than Leonard deserved anything in his life.

"Leonard...what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"You are. I can tell."

"How? Do you read minds?"

Bill leaned back and touched Leonard's mouth with his fingertips. "No, but I can feel it when you're frowning." He shifted to Leonard's brow. "And I can feel it when you're all tense. You're not losing your faith, are you?"

"Never."

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I never understood Beckett?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, pretend I didn't mention it then."

"You don't like  _ Waiting for Godot _ ?"

"I just don't know if I could sell it. I've been to a number of performances of his work, and Albee's, and I just never really got it."

"Do you need to get it to perform it?"

"Yes. Well, I do. Maybe you don't. And we do not have time to figure it out."

Leonard frowned. "We'll figure it out. We don't really have any other choice, do we?"

"No, I guess we don't."

"Here." He gave Bill back the script he had tossed away in disgust. "Let's get started on this."

"I would rather be kissing you right now."

"The feeling is mutual." For a moment, he considered telling Bill his wayward thoughts. He'd explain how important it was for them to concentrate on rehearsing, because otherwise, Leonard would be seduced into giving up the fight entirely. But vocalizing them would make them real, and Leonard would rather pretend they never happened at all. "But I think we shouldn't waste any time."

"No, I know. And Leonard?"

"What?"

"Thank you. For coming here, for fighting for me. For making me remember what was left to fight for."

"You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"I think we're going to find out tomorrow."

Leonard smiled a little and opened the play. For a moment, the words swam in front of his eyes. He had actually been in a performance of this before, and he already knew it well. He probably didn't even need the script to be in front of him. Which was good, because he found it difficult to concentrate. He hadn't been lying before. He did have faith in Bill. But since the first man made his first sacrifice in supplication to unseen and unknowable gods, there has always been one overwhelming question.

Would faith be enough?

 


	6. Chapter 6

_ When the Devil finished, Johnny said _

_ "Well, you're pretty good ol' son. _

_ But sit down in that chair right there _

_ And let me show you how it's done!" _

\-- Charlie Daniels

 

* * * *

 

Everything was distressingly normal. But everything had been distressingly normal from the very beginning. When Bill first arrived in Georgia and joined the company, he had received an extremely friendly and warm welcome. The company ran like every other company he had ever been involved with. In some respects, it was better, because none of the actors behaved like prima donnas, wardrobe was always intact, and the technical difficulties that typically plagued any production were entirely nonexistent. The company worked like a well-oiled machine, and each night, they staged  _ Doctor Faustus _ without a misstep. Bill didn't mention as much to Leonard, but he didn't remember studying the script. The words had just been in his head when he arrived.

_ Waiting For Godot _ , however, was not in his brain. And it felt like no matter how often he read the script, no matter how many times they rehearsed it together, the words wouldn't stick. Around two in the morning, he began to panic. He had never had a panic attack before, but as his throat closed and his eyes bulged and everything descended on him, he understood why they called it that. He couldn't breathe. No matter how much he fought the pressure, no matter how much he gasped, no matter how he clawed at his throat, he couldn't take a single breath. He was going to be stuck in his truck, in that play, for the rest of eternity. And the worst part, the part he couldn't forgive himself for, was that Leonard would be stuck also.

Leonard had grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit on the bed. The night before, the mattress had been like a cloud. He had never felt anything so luxurious. He could have languished on it all day, with the sheets like silk against his bare skin, and Leonard's warm body pressed against him. But as he dropped like a stone to the bed, his lungs burning, his eyes damp, he realized that the bed wasn't a thick, soft cloud. It was made of stone. Like a horrible ancient altar, thirsty for blood, waiting to soak in every drop that it could. Bill had struggled to get away from it, his skin crawling with fresh fear, but Leonard had held him in place, repeating his name over and over, and reminding him to breathe.

At some point, the words actually sank in, and he did exactly as Leonard instructed. He took a deep, much needed breath. And another and another. Gradually, his mind cleared. When he could see again, he focused on Leonard's face and muttered his gratitude and an apology. "Thanks. Sorry I freaked out."

Leonard had kissed the corner of his mouth. The act had been so casual, so comforting, that Bill forgot all about the weight on his chest. How could he be so afraid when he had Leonard's support? He wasn't alone. And Leonard had faith in him. Bill couldn't even remember the last time he had faith in anything.

"Don't worry about it." He had followed the words with another kiss. "One more read through, then we'll get some sleep."

Bill had nodded and pushed himself to his feet. The room was smaller. Had Leonard noticed that? The room was closing in around them. The entire town was. As if to remind them that there would be no escape. Not that night. Not any time. How had this happened?  _ Why _ was this happening? One stupid phone call. One ridiculous offer he had thought was nothing more than a prank. Had his future, his life, his very soul really come down to a phone call in the middle of the evening, just before Gloria had served supper?

But when Bill reached the tent an hour before curtain, everything was distressingly normal. Their first stop was the wardrobe trailer, and of course, all the costumes were different. They had been switched to something more appropriate for  _ Waiting for Godot. _ The wardrobe mistress didn't seem the least perturbed by the change. In fact, she behaved as though they had spent the entire summer performing Beckett instead of Marlowe.

A thought gripped him with sudden force, and he knew he was going insane.

"How long have I been here, Leonard?"

"What?"

"How long have I been traveling with the company from Hell?"

"I don't know, Bill."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Has it been a week? A month? A year?"

"You don't remember?"

"How could I?" Bill gestured at Matilda. "She doesn't even realize we've switched plays. If you ask her, she'll say she's been dressing me up as Estragon for months. She probably doesn't even remember  _ Doctor Faustus. _ "

"Do you remember  _ Doctor Faustus _ ?"

"I...I don't remember what came before it. And if I needed to go on stage and perform right now, I don't think I could." Bill rubbed his face. "I don't know what's happening to me. I...feel like I'm losing control."

"You're not. I'm here. I can tell you what's real and what's not." Leonard gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "It'll be fine."

"How can you say that? We're stuck in this strange town, with these strange people, and Leonard, I don't remember the play."

"What are you talking about? Of course, you remember it. We were just going over it twenty minutes ago."

"I don't know if I do."

"Yes, you do. I'll prove it. 'I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I've tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle. So there you are again.'"

"Am I?"

"'I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever.'"

"Me too."

"'Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? Get up till I embrace you.'"

"Not now. Not now."

Leonard nodded. "See? You're going to be fine. You just did the opening of the play without missing a beat."

Bill frowned. He hadn't realized he was reciting lines from the play. But he had the feeling Leonard would be disturbed if he said as much. "Well, then, hopefully I can keep that up."

"You ready for your makeup?" Matilda drawled.

"Yeah."

"Then have a seat."

He sat in the same chair he always did, and stared at himself in the same mirror he had been using for...how long? If he called Gloria, would she be able to tell him how long he had been gone? Laurie sounded like she was still young. He hadn't lost years of her life. He needed to keep that in mind. He needed to focus on the memory of her voice, and the way she had cried with fear over a nightmare, the way only a small child could. No matter how much adults wanted to cry over nightmares, something like shame always held them back. He would be fine, as long as he remembered that.

Leonard seemed to be keeping it all together. His face was calm, almost serene, as the makeup process began. When he noticed Bill watching him, the corner of his mouth would lift in acknowledgment. He didn't act like a man whose life, whose very soul, was in jeopardy. But then, Leonard had always been that way. A tranquil oasis in the middle of the unbelievable shit-storm that was a television studio. Bill had relied on him then, had used Leonard to ground himself in reality, and that was what he needed to do now.

Matilda finished his makeup, then helped him into his costume. He had never worn the clothes before, but they fit perfectly. Like they had been specifically tailored for his body. Leonard's clothes fit perfectly, too. That realization made Bill feel a little sick. He couldn't even stand to look at Leonard as they exited the trailer.

"How are you feeling? Still nervous?"

Bill nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. Though, that wasn't quite right. The torment he was going through now couldn't fairly be characterized as simple  _ nerves. _ He was terrified, down to his very core. He couldn't name a time he had ever been this scared. Not even when Gloria told him she was pregnant with Liza, and he realized he would be responsible for another person's happiness, well-being,  _ life. _ This moment was a little like that, except now he was going to be entrusted with Leonard's soul.

"I can't do this," Bill blurted.

"Yes, you can."

"No. Please, Leonard. I can't. I can't be...that would be hell. Knowing that you were willing to sacrifice everything for me, and I failed you, that would be hell. I don't think the devil could devise anything more horrible."

"Bill..." Leonard took him by the shoulders. The same way he had grabbed him the night before. "It would be hell for me if I left you here. Knowing I could have saved you and doing nothing? How could I live with myself after that? I couldn't. Now, we're going to do this, and we're going to be brilliant."

"I still don't know the words."

"Yes, you do. They're here." Leonard tapped Bill's chest. "Don't forget who you are, Bill. Don't let anybody take that away from you."

"Who am I?"

"You're the guy who shows up to the do job. You're the guy who does it right. And you're the guy who would never let down the people who love him."

"You love me?"

Leonard's smile was so boyish, so shy, that it took years off his face. It reached his eyes, and for a moment, he looked utterly carefree. "I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here."

"I won't let you down."

"I know." He took Bill's elbow and pulled him toward the tent. "Come on. The show's going to start soon."

"Hey, Leonard?"

"Yeah?"

"Break a leg."

"You, too."

Bill stepped into the tent like he had done dozens (hundreds?) of times before, but unlike all those other times, the tent was practically empty. He had become accustomed to the large crowds that all looked vaguely similar, like he was staring at the same faces but arranged in a different order. He had even found a certain comfort there, because he had never been afraid of performing, or shy around strangers. In fact, he became an actor because he liked to be the center of attention. More than that, he liked to have power over people. He could make strangers weep with sorrow or weep with joy with no more than simple words. The power was like a drug, and the first time he had experienced the rush he had only been eight. Over the years, the rush hadn't dulled.

The crowd was gone, but the tent wasn't empty. There were seven figures standing by the stage. Three other performers who would be playing parts in  _ Godot _ , Smith, of course, and three people that Bill didn't recognize. He glanced over to Leonard, searching for any signs of recognition, but he seemed as perplexed as Bill felt.

"I thought you might not show," Smith drawled.

"We had a deal, didn't we?" Leonard responded. "Where's the audience?"

"This is going to be a private performance. For myself and the three impartial judges. Come over here and meet the men who hold your souls in their hands."

Bill would rather not meet them. He just wanted to get on the sparsely decorated stage and do the work he was there to do. But Leonard was striding forward with no fear or hesitation, so Bill followed his lead. His stomach hurt. He hoped he wasn't going to puke. He didn't want to expose such obvious weakness at such a critical time.

"Since I wanted this to be as fair as possible, I chose three judges who know drama." Smith smiled broadly as he spoke, and Bill's stomach twisted into tighter knots. "The first, you two know as Sophocles."

The author of  _ Oedipus Rex _ stepped forward. An older man, unremarkable in every way, except for his solid black eyes. He barely looked at Leonard, but his gaze lingered on Bill, like he was busy unlocking every secret inside Bill's psyche. Or maybe reading every dream and every sin inscribed on his soul. After several long moments, he nodded his greeting, then stepped back in the line.

"The second is Christopher Marlowe."

"Kit, please." He bowed deeply. "I've seen you perform before, Bill. You're a credit to my work."

"What?"

Marlowe smiled widely. Two of his teeth were missing and the rest were yellow and crooked, with sharp points. Everything inside of Bill wanted to recoil, but he forced himself to remain still and hold his ground. "Did I surprise you?"

"I just never noticed you in the audience."

"Oh, trust me, it wasn't easy to get tickets! It was worth it, though. You remind me a little of Mephastophilis."

"He's real?" Bill asked.

"Of course, he is. Where do you think I found inspiration for the play? You mean, you've never met him?"

"No, I don't believe so." Bill was speaking. He could feel his mouth move and hear his voice forming words. But he was barely aware of anything he was saying or what any of it meant. He just opened his mouth and hoped that it would all work out in the end.

"Maybe you'll get the chance sooner or later. He's great."

"Why do you sound so normal?" Bill blurted. "Shouldn't you sound more...English?"

Marlowe laughed like Bill had just told the joke of the century. "Yeah, I think you would like Mephastophilis."

"And our third judge barely needs any introduction at all. George Gordon, but you might know him better as Lord Byron."

Bill caught his breath as a tall, very striking man emerged from the shadows. He had a hawklike nose, but that was softened by his sensual mouth, and the way his black hair curled around his ears. His dark eyes burned with passion and desire, but Bill didn't think that was for any particular person. He caught Bill's hand and brought it up to his mouth before Bill could pull away or protest. The light kiss burned through his skin, and Bill knew he would be branded by the kiss for the rest of his life.

"He's much better looking than Mephastophilis. He looks like he's more fun, too."

Bill blinked. "I..."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Byron smiled and pulled him closer. "We could have fun, you and I. But not if you insist on leaving us."

"What qualifies Byron to judge us as actors?" Leonard demanded. Bill blinked. He had forgotten Leonard was still there.

Byron dropped Bill's hand and rounded on the other man, fire leaping in his dark eyes. Real, glowing fire. Bill stepped back, but Leonard remained unruffled. He folded his arms and stared back. "How dare you?"

"How dare I what?" Leonard asked.

"I have forgotten more about the theater than you will ever know in your life. I saw the great Edmund Kean perform at the height of his career. Do you think you will be able to wipe the memory of that master thespian from my mind?" Byron smiled slowly. "You'll have to, if you want to win your lover's soul back."

"How did you...?"

"How did I know?" The smile didn't fade. Looking at it made Bill's stomach tighten in a completely different way. He didn't know much about Byron's life, but he did know that Byron's sexual exploits were legendary. It wasn't hard to see why. He could have anybody, man or woman, that he wanted. Bill was sure that he was only a few kind words away from hitting his knees and offering up anything Byron wanted. "It's written all over the two of you. In fact, the two of you remind me of..." He sighed and shook his head. "Well, that's not important now."

"The criteria is simple," Smith said, ignoring Byron's sudden moroseness. "You will perform the entire play. They will rate the play on a scale from one to five. Five stars from each judge will result in your freedom."

The sick feeling returned. Five stars? How were they supposed to do that? Marlowe had seen Shakespeare's work performed by the Bard himself. Byron had witnessed some of the finest Shakespearean actors in history. How had Kean been described? Watching him was like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning. And Sophocles...Sophocles had practically invented drama. Of course, that was only if they planned to judge fairly. How could anybody in the Devil's employ be trusted? This was a joke. A fool didn't bet on a fixed race. So what kind of fools were they?

Leonard took his hand, guiding him away from the small group. Bill couldn't move under his own power. He couldn't even see. The entire world had gone black, and he couldn't see anything except what was directly in front of him. Tunnel vision. Did people get that when they were absolutely, completely, mind numbingly, piss-your-pants afraid?

"The play starts with you on the stage, Bill."

"What?"

"You start on the stage," Leonard repeated patiently.

"Leonard..."

"Go on."

"But the staging..."

"You'll know what to do. Trust your instincts."

That was it. There wasn't time for another argument. He couldn't protest again. He couldn't insist this was insane. There was nothing left to do except act, and when you stripped everything else away, Bill was an actor. He had been born to it. It was all he wanted, and whether or not he was any good, it was all he knew. When he stepped onto the stage, he lost the weight on his shoulders. When he took his place, he forgot he was nervous. When he began pulling at his boot, struggling in vain to free it from his foot, he forgot he was Bill Ricks. He was a man, alone on a rock, trying to pull off his boot in a world that didn't make any sort of sense.

"Nothing to be done."

Leonard took the stage, but when he opened his mouth, it wasn't Leonard's voice. It was Vladimir's.

Bill didn't consciously remember a single line. Yet, every time he opened his mouth, the right words emerged. He didn't know them, but he felt them. He fed from Leonard's energy and returned the favor, giving as much as he took on the stage. The play had its own rhythm, and once he found it, he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. Every movement he made was fluid, a natural extension of the words he didn't remember memorizing.

An actor needed an audience. The larger the audience, the better. But Bill had learned to perform without the rapt attention of a full house. It didn't matter what sat out in the darkness. A hundred people, one person, a television camera--it was all the same in the end. And none of it matter when he transcended the confines of his own reality and walked in somebody else's skin. He might not have written the words, but he gave them life. He might not have created Estragon, but he gave the man life. For a short time, under a canvas tent in the middle of Georgia, surrounded by darkness, both natural and artificial, Estragon lived. He walked, he talked, he breathed, he felt pain and sorrow and joy. He felt despair so deep that it turned his soul into ice.

It was all there inside of him. Like he had been wearing a Bill Shatner suit. One he could unzip and step out of with the greatest of ease. And when he did, what he found underneath was Estragon. That could have been a suit, as well. Maybe Bill didn't even exist. Maybe there was only an infinite number of suits, an infinite number of masks to strip away at will. Each time he accepted a new role, he discovered a new persona, a new suit, under the skin he had been wearing.

The stage disappeared, too. Theater was an act of forgetting. The audience agreed to forget they were looking at actors on the stage, and all they asked in return was something they could believe in. But when things really went well, when everything worked, the audience members weren't the only people engaged in the act of forgetting. When things went right, they'd all transcend the stage, the costumes, the makeup, the tent together. They'd all be transported to the place where these words and these people truly existed. As far as Bill was concerned, there wasn't a better experience in the world. It couldn't be bought with money. It couldn't be found with drugs or sex. And just to have the opportunity once in his life was an untold blessing. He had no doubt that Leonard would say the same thing if asked.

"'Well? Shall we go?'"

"Yes." Bill looked up, and suddenly, he was on the stage again. The familiar dirty canvas above his head. He looked up, studying it as though he could see the stars through it. A few moments before, he had been able to. And the cheap, Styrofoam tree and rock had both been real. If they lost this wager, how much would he regret it? Would he look back on this performance and critique every decision? He didn't think so, mainly because he couldn't remember much of the performance. Would Leonard blame him? Would his kids every forgive him? Would they ever understand why their father never came home? There was no way to answer those questions. He had given everything he had. If that wasn't enough, he couldn't spend the rest of eternity beating himself up. "Let's go."

The lights went down. Shadows fell on them like demons, cloaking them. Bill could hear their small audience in the dark, but he couldn't see them. He couldn't see Leonard, either. His heart jumped to his throat, but he pushed down the panic. He wasn't going to lose his mind. In a moment, the lights would go back up, he and Leonard would bow, and then they would hear the final verdict. He wouldn't be banned to the darkness forever.

Would he?

Seconds stretched into minutes. Then Bill couldn't sense the passage of time. Had he been banished? Was this the true definition of Hell? The thought almost made him laugh. All of his life, he had heard about the fiery, smoldering pits. He had heard about demons torturing the lost and wicked souls. It never sounded like a pleasant place, but at least it was warm and full of people. This was cold. And lonely.

This was the weight of his desperation, only instead of being consumed from the inside out, he was being crushed from the outside. This was the culmination of every single tear. This was the loss he felt when Gloria left him. This was the darkest night, with nothing but Caligula to keep him company. This was the night he left Hollywood without a chance to say good-bye to Leonard. This was the sound of his baby girl crying on the other end of a long cold phone line.

This was the end.

Bill closed his eyes. It didn't make any sort of difference. Bill reached out, but he touched nothing. Had he done something to deserve this? Maybe he had been too self-centered. Maybe he should have quit acting when he learned Gloria was pregnant. If he had been willing to sacrifice that for his family, the strange call, and the even stranger offer, wouldn't have ever been an issue. He was sorry. He was so sorry for everything. But there was nobody to hear that. He could scream and scream into the darkness, but nobody would ever hear him. There was nobody to hear his appeal. His defense. What would he even offer? How could he even apologize?

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the darkness. The darkness didn't whisper back.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_ The devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat, _

_ And he laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny's feet _

\-- Charlie Daniels

 

* * * *

 

"So I woke up in this strange bed, and I didn't even know what day it was, much less where I was. For a second, I thought I might have been kidnapped. I mean, anything could have happened while I was out of it, and I know better than that, but you know how it is. Somebody starts pouring the drinks, and then they start passing around the drugs, and you think that maybe one hit won't hurt you. Then before you know it, you're on all fours, surrounded by hard cocks, and you're just praying to every saint that...."

Philip droned on, but Leonard ignored him. He was so used to the makeup artist's colorful, over-the-top stories that he barely heard them anymore. They were always the same, which indicated either Phil had a poor imagination or he simply never learned his lesson. Either way, Leonard had more important things on his mind than the other man's hardcore exploits.

"So how was your weekend?"

Leonard blinked at his own reflection. It hurt, like his eyelids were made of sandpaper. "I don't remember much of it."

"That good?"

"That long."

"Yeah. I bet time pretty much stops when you're in Georgia."

"It felt like that."

"Did you find him?"

Most people didn't know why Leonard had flown to Atlanta, but he had he mentioned it to Philip because the other man counted Bill as a good friend. "I don't...I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

_ Because that sounds a hell of a lot better than saying I don't know what happened. _ "I'll tell you everything later."

"That's fine. You must have had a pretty rough flight, huh?"

Leonard nodded, though he didn't remember the flight, either. He had been scheduled to take an overnight flight from Atlanta to Los Angeles, and when he woke up, he was in his own bed. But like Philip, he couldn't remember how he got there. Or why. Every time he tried to access that information, he felt something resisting him. Like when he was a kid and he tried to hold two magnets together. The more they resisted each other, the harder he tried, but it never did any good. Now he had to work, and he didn't have the script prepared. They had expected him to come back ready to work. That had been the deal for getting the time off. Too bad they weren't expecting a performance of  _ Waiting for Godot _ from him. Those words would live with him for the rest of his life.

The fact that he woke up in his own bed and not in the motel told him that they won the competition. What else could it mean? He didn't think that the devil would delay collection on a soul that was rightfully his. Especially since he could compel the two of them to perform  _ Waiting for Godot _ for an eternity. Making them play it until they finally got it perfectly right. Wouldn't that have been a delightful punishment? He wished there was a way he could check on the status of his soul. But as far as he knew, there were no tests for that. It wasn't like he could discreetly visit a doctor in the Hills to have a quick consultation on the state of his immortal soul. And he didn't particularly trust any of the churches in the area, either.

"Leonard?"

"What?"

"Did you hear a word I just said?"

"No," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I was just..."

"Somewhere else."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be up to working today?"

Leonard snorted. "Since when does that matter?"

"If you're sick or something, then there's a good chance everything they shoot today will have to be redone anyway," Philip pointed out.

"I'm not sick. I'll get through filming today. I don't really have a choice in that."

"Are you thinking about Bill?"

"I already said I didn't want to talk about it," Leonard snapped, then instantly regretted his harsh tone. It wasn't Philip's fault. He was just trying to be helpful. Like a friend. And up until that moment, Leonard had considered him a friend. But now he just wanted the other man to get out of his face. "I'm sorry."

"No, I get it."

"I don't know where he is."

"So you didn't find him in Georgia?"

"I...I did. I don't know what happened after that. It's a long story, Philip. A long, crazy story. Maybe I'll tell you someday but..."

"Is he hurt?" Philip asked.

"No, I don't think he is. Or he wasn't when I saw him."

"Did he get caught up in bad shit?" Philip shook his head. "If I told him once, I told him a thousand times to watch himself. People show up in Hollywood and they think since they were big time stars in New York, they know the score. But they don't. It's not the same here."

"I don't think he got into any trouble here. He had a different sort of problem."

"Were you pulled into the middle of it?"

"I think I jumped right into the middle of it when I went looking for him."

"But he didn't come home with you?"

Leonard rubbed the back of his hand. He had investigated himself thoroughly that morning before leaving the house, and there weren't any black marks. "I don't know, Phil. I just don't know. I think...I think he'll be home soon."

Philip studied him in the mirror for a long second. Leonard didn't glance away. He had nothing to hide. He had told the truth as he understood it, and there was simply nothing left to be said.

 

* * * *

 

Leonard didn't know how, but he made it through the entire schedule. He stood where he was told to stand, and he read the words off the cue cards, and did his best not to look like a complete fool. Every time he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, he resisted the urge to spin around and make sure it wasn't Bill. Over lunch, he considered calling Gloria to see if she had heard from him, but there was only one phone for use on the set, and it was in the common area, and the producer had it all tied up. If Bill had somehow made it home, would he even call Leonard? Or would he go directly to see his girls?

Knowing Bill, that's exactly what he would have done. At 6:18, when a wrap for the day was called, Leonard didn't even bother washing his face. He changed into his street clothes, jumped in his car, and drove directly to Gloria's small home in Pasadena. He fluctuated between hopeful and afraid. He tried to tell himself to just stay calm. He wouldn't be able to handle the disappointment, otherwise. What if he knocked on the door and Gloria looked at him with questioning eyes, confusion all over her face?  _ Bill? Of course, Bill isn't here. _

The day was perfect. The sort of day that two dozen professionals would spend all day creating on set. Tall trees towered over the yards, stretching their branches out to offer shade from the late summer sun. There were kids playing at the other end of the street, and every few moments, the air would be punctuated with the delighted sound of laughing. All the lawns on the block had been recently mowed, and the flowers were still in strong bloom. There was something sweet in the air, but Leonard couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps a blossom he had never noticed before. The neighborhood was so far removed from Dublin, Georgia that it didn't seem like the two places could be on the same planet, let alone exist in the same country.

He slammed the door closed and hurried up the walk, half-expecting somebody to open the door and greet him before he reached the porch. Nobody did, and has he lifted his hand to knock on the door he realized why. There was laughter coming from inside the house. Muffled, of course, but still distinct enough for Leonard to pick out four different sources. Three girls and one man. Relief warred with another nameless emotion as he knocked on the door.

Gloria answered it with a large smile. "Hi, Leonard."

"Hi. I came by to see Bill."

"Of course. Come in. Can I get you anything to drink? I just made a pitcher of lemonade. And you're welcome to stay for dinner."

Leonard stepped into the living room and released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Bill was on the floor, wrestling with Laurie and Linda, while Liza sat on the couch and pretended to be far too old for such roughhousing. Bill didn't notice him at first. He was too busy being pinned to the floor by a five-year-old bundle of energy. Once she had him flat on his back, she jumped up and landed on his stomach with a delighted laugh, like she had never seen or done anything more hilarious in her life. Bill grunted, but as soon as he had his breath back, he was laughing, too.

"You're going to pay for that, missy."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Because I'm bigger than you, and I'm faster than you, and I know how ticklish you are."

"No...Uncle Leonard will protect me!"

Bill's head jerked up. Leonard smiled a small greeting, and the startled look on his face gave way to more laughter. "No, he won't."

"Yes, he will."

Apparently believing actions spoke louder than words, she disentangled herself from her father and raced toward Leonard, barreling at his legs with enough speed to wipe him out if he didn't catch her. He bent down and swooped her up in his arms. She screeched with fresh delight before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Don't let him tickle me."

"You should just tickle him back."

She screwed her face up with confusion. "He's ticklish?"

"Yes, he is. Very."

"Where?"

Leonard smiled. "I'll show you later. But first, I've got to talk to your dad for a few minutes. Is that all right with you?"

She considered the question for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yes. I want some lemonade."

Leonard put her down as Bill disentangled himself from Linda's grasp. "Come on outside. We should be out there, anyway. It's too nice of a day to be stuck inside."

"Can we come, too, Dad?"

"No, you help your mom with dinner."

They both seemed disappointed by the order, but they didn't argue. As soon as they disappeared into the kitchen, Leonard followed Bill through the house to the backdoor. The freshly mowed backyard still smelled of grass clippings, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread wafted from the house. All of his senses reported the same thing--Bill was home. And not just back in California. He was  _ home. _ Where he belonged.

Was it possible to be happy for somebody and completely devastated at the same time? From second to second, Leonard didn't know if he was going to smile or cry.

"What happened?" he asked, once the door closed behind them.

Bill shook his head. "I don't really know. I mean, I was in...blackness. Complete darkness. I had never felt more lost in my life. I thought I would be banished there for eternity. I thought I was dead. Did that happen to you?"

"It might have. There's a big space of time I just don't remember at all. Like it never happened."

"You remember the play?"

"I remember performing," Leonard said slowly. "Then there's nothing. Then I woke up in bed."

"When I opened my eyes, I was standing outside Gloria's door. So I knocked. And she let me in like...like it wasn't a big deal. Like she was a little surprised I had knocked at all."

"So are you two...?"

"I don't know. We haven't really talked about it yet."

"Your girls seem pretty happy to see you."

Bill smiled with clear pride. "I thought they'd be upset at me for being gone for so long, but they weren't. We've been playing all day. They're going to wear me out."

"That's good. I'm so glad..." Leonard paused, surprised by the sudden surge of emotion in his chest. He had saved Bill. They had saved each other. His faith had not been misplaced. Not for a second. No matter what happened in his life, he would have this victory. And the two of them would have the memory of a perfect night together. That was more than Leonard had ever hoped for. Certainly more than he could have ever expected. Besides, Bill had never once said that he loved Leonard, too. He loved his wife, and he loved his girls, and he loved acting. Whatever they had between them, it wasn't love. "I'm so glad you're home."

"Thank you. For everything. I feel so dumb saying that. Like those two words could really express...could even touch what you've done for me."

"You don't need to say anything else. Just...start working again. I miss seeing you on my television."

"Leonard..."

"And I don't want to hear about how nobody will want you. You convinced some very hard judges that you were the greatest actor in the world. Don't you forget that."

"I won't, but..."

Leonard squeezed his shoulder. "Take care of yourself. And be careful of oral contracts."

"I will. Why does it sound like you're saying good-bye?"

"I think it's because I am."

"But Leonard..."

"This is your prize. You got your soul back, Bill. That includes your family. I don't really have a place in that. I never did. The last time we did this, it about killed me. We need to do it right this time."

"Right? What does that mean?"

"It means no awkward silences. It means saying good-bye properly." Leonard looked up, surveying the house to make sure nobody was spying on them through the windows, then leaned forward and kissed Bill on the corner of the mouth. "I meant everything I said, by the way. Tell Gloria I'm sorry that I couldn't stay for dinner. I've got a big day tomorrow. I need to get home. Get some sleep."

"Don't go yet, Leonard. This isn't the right way. Please."

If he didn't leave, all of his noble intentions would be chucked. But this was a fight he could not win. He might have the ability to claim Bill's soul from the devil, but he couldn't claim Bill's affections from his family. Family had always been his number one priority, and even if Leonard thought he could triumph, he knew he should never try. Not if he truly loved Bill as much as he claimed.

"I'll see you around."

Leonard didn't leave through the house. He didn't think he could stand it. He left Bill standing on the porch and let himself out through the side gate. He had done the right thing. Made the right sacrifice. He knew Bill understood that, too. Regardless of what he said. The world needed to be made right again.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_ If these delights thy mind may move _

_ Then live with me and be my Love _

\-- Christopher Marlowe

 

* * * *

 

Up to that point in his life, Bill thought winning his soul back from Lucifer would be the most difficult task he'd ever have to face. The stakes had been high, and the contest had been rigged. He knew that he would reach his grave before he'd find out just how they defeated Old Scratch at his own game. Had the two of them been so stunning that even the trio of damned souls couldn't lie and call the game in favor of Lucifer? Had they really been transcendent? Were they really free? The mark on the back of his hand was gone, and he noticed Leonard had not been similarly scarred, so they must have won. Somehow.

But as he stood outside Leonard's apartment, he realized that performing  _ Waiting for Godot _ for Sophocles, Lord Byron, and Christopher Marlowe had been mere child's play. In fact, compared to the effort it took to raise his hand and knock on the door, that performance felt like the easiest thing he had ever done in his life. At least the script, the makeup, the wardrobe, and the stage had been provided for him. All the guess work had been removed. All he had to do was say the words, stand where he was told, and not step on Leonard's lines. Why couldn't he just do that again? Why did he have to provide his own script? Why did he have to figure out this shit on his own? He had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea what to say or what to offer. He wasn't even sure why Leonard had left him standing on the back porch, empty-handed and baffled.

But they were friends. And Leonard loved him.  _ Loved _ him enough to risk his life and his soul. Loved him enough to go toe-to-toe with the devil himself. Loved him enough to track him down, to save him, to let him go when he thought that was for the best. And he had done it all without any expectations. Bill couldn't let things end like this. Even if Leonard insisted it was the  _ right _ ending.

With that in mind, he knocked on the door. Three short raps. Then three more after a full minute passed and Leonard didn't answer.

Three more, and the door creaked open.

"What are you doing here?" Leonard said in lieu of a greeting.

"I wasn't done talking to you today."

"I don't think we have anything left to say."

"You might not, but I do." Bill pushed at the door, forcing it open so he could step into Leonard's apartment. As far as Bill knew, he had been living in the same small space since he moved to Hollywood, despite his success. "And I'm not going to leave until I've said it."

"Why can't you just let things be easy?"

"You think what you did today was the easy option?"

"Yes, I do. You're a family man, Bill. That's your reward, your identity. That's where you're happy. And I can't be the person who comes between you and your family."

"You're not.  _ I  _ am."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I'm a pretty good father, but I'm a shitty husband. Gloria doesn't want to go through that again, and I'm not going to try to talk her into changing her mind. It's better this way."

"But...what about your kids?"

"I'm still going to be a part of their lives. That's never going to change. But Gloria divorced me long before I left for Georgia, and my sudden return to California doesn't change that basic fact."

"But you all looked so happy."

Bill shrugged. "Gloria was happy the girls were happy. That doesn't mean she wants to be my wife again. I really was a shitty husband, Leonard."

"But you were working..."

"Yeah, well, apparently relationships need more time and attention than I ever gave ours. But I didn't come here to talk about me and Gloria." Bill took a step forward. "I wanted to talk about you and me."

"I don't know what there is to talk about."

"Don't be coy with me, Leonard. You know what we've got to talk about. This thing that's been between us since probably around the time we first met."

Leonard had been studying his hands, but he looked up at those words. Bill caught his breath. He had never seen Leonard looking so open. So vulnerable. Like all of his defenses had been brutally torn away, and he was left with nothing but the request that Bill please not destroy him. In that moment, Bill realized the true depth of his power over the other man. He could crush him with a few choice words. It wouldn't even take much. A sentence. Maybe two. Maybe not even that much. In his entire life, Bill couldn't remember having that sort of power over anybody.

"I couldn't let that be the end, because I don't want the two of us to end," Bill added. "That's just about the last thing I want."

"Really?"

"Yes. How could you think I would just...turn my back on you?"

"I didn't think you were turning your back on me. I didn't want to force you into that decision. I was trying to be noble."

"You've succeeded admirably. But this time, I don't need you to be noble. I don't need you to save me from myself."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to say what I should have already said. After that, we can discuss what to do from here. But Leonard...I love you. I love your talent, I love your smile, I love your soul. I love you for everything you were willing to sacrifice for me. I love your sense of humor. I love that you came down to Georgia when nobody else could be bothered. I love the way you taste when you're still all warm with sleep. I love the way you laugh. Is that enough, or should I go on?"

Leonard shook his head. "You don't...you don't have to."

"Please don't make me leave, Leonard. Because I might not have the courage to come back again, and that'll be the real tragedy."

"You don't have to leave," Leonard whispered. "I really don't want you to go."

Bill smiled. "That works out nicely, because I really don't want to go."

Leonard took him by the arm and pulled him close. Bill tilted his head back, and their mouths met with a practiced ease. Like they had been kissing each other like this for dozens of years. Leonard tasted just the way Bill remembered. He felt the same. He sounded the same when he moaned into the kiss. Everything was so familiar and yet...

Despite knowing that they had slept together in Georgia, Bill couldn't remember it too clearly. All of his memories of that time were fading away into nothing. Before too long, it would be like it never happened at all. But even though he couldn't remember the specifics, he did recall how good it felt to be pressed to the mattress beneath Leonard's body. He remembered the sense of being completed when Leonard thrust into him, and how the pain had been nothing more than a ghost once they were finally joined together.

"I need you, Len. So much."

"I know." He spoke against Bill's mouth, like he couldn't stand to break the contact between them, even for a second. "I know. Need you, too."

"Were you really going to say good-bye forever?"

"I thought that was what you needed from me."

Bill lifted his head. "But what about what you need from me?"

"What?"

"What do you need from me? What can I do for you right now? Tell me, Len, please. Tell me what you need."

"I only need you."

"But what can I do for you? I owe you so much. Let me do something."

"Bill..."

"Tell me."

"Just let me take you to bed. And promise me you'll still be there when I wake up in the morning."

Bill grinned. "I'm unemployed now, so I can pretty much guarantee that I'll be there in the morning. And every other morning, too."

"You could also help me out by getting undressed."

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He quickly stripped, watching as Leonard did the same. The only light came from outside. A curious combination of orange and silver, with occasional yellow flashes from the passing cars. Leonard's body was pale in the shadows, but clearly visible. Bill reached for him as soon as he could, desperate to feel his sold flesh, his warm skin, the delicate breath against his face when they kissed again. He wouldn't tell Leonard as much, but he hated the dark now. As long as Leonard was with him, he wouldn't insist on turning on the light. But when he was alone, he couldn't stand it. Not now that he knew what real darkness was like.

Leonard led him to the bed and pulled him down. The mattress dipped beneath them, the frame creaking from their combined weight. They would need to get a new bed. And a new place, because he didn't have anywhere to live, and they could really do better than that apartment. But that thought fluttered away as soon as Leonard claimed his mouth again. They sank into the welcoming mattress, locked around each other, their bodies already throbbing together. Bill could feel Leonard's rapid pulse, and his own heart was racing.

The first brush of Leonard's fingers across his stiff cock made him choke. He didn't know why the contact surprised him so much, but he had been completely unprepared for the pressure and texture of Leonard's fingers. He felt like his body had been designed to respond to Leonard. Nobody ever touched him that way. Nobody ever made him feel that way. He responded in kind, wrapping his fingers around Leonard's shaft, and stroking him slowly.

Leonard gasped against his mouth. "Oh, God."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Better than you can know."

"Trust me..." Bill jerked his hips, grinding against Leonard. "I know."

"I can't wait. I was going to show you...but I can't wait."

"You don't have to wait. Anything you want, Leonard. I mean it. Anything you want, it's yours."

He felt Leonard's smile, and then he felt cold and abandoned as the other man pulled back. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the tub of Vaseline. Bill watched, his muscles twitching, his cock leaking fresh pre-come, as Leonard opened the top and scooped a good amount out with his fingers. He turned and sat on the bed with his back against the wall and slicked his cock up, spreading the lubricant with long fingers.

"What are you doing clear over there?"

"Come here."

"What?"

"I've wanted to do this since...well, it's been awhile."

Bill grinned. "Since when? Tell me."

"Since I saw you in an episode of  _ Alfred Hitchcock's Presents. _ "

"What? Really? You've wanted...really?"

"Yes. Why are you so surprised? You know how gorgeous you are. Is it such a shock that I'd notice it, too?"

"What about my performance made you want to fuck me?"

"I think it was the cumulative effect. Now, are you going to get over here, or are we going to spend the whole night discussing how pretty you are?"

"No. Can we spend tomorrow night discussing how pretty I am?"

Leonard took his hand and pulled him close. "If your mouth isn't otherwise busy."

Bill straddled Leonard's thighs, his hands resting on Leonard's shoulders, his cock trapped between their stomachs. Leonard reached behind him, and he expected to feel the blunt head of his cock pressed to his opening, but instead Leonard traced the tight muscle with his fingertip. He waited until Bill relaxed before pushing one finger into his channel.

"You're not going to do what you did before, are you?" Bill murmured.

"I could if you wanted me to."

"No. Please. I just...I'm ready for you to fuck me."

"Already?" Leonard pumped his wrist, easing his finger in and out of Bill's tight body. "You sure?"

Bill nodded. "Oh, yes. Trust me. I'm ready."

"I just don't want to hurt you." Leonard pulled his hand free, then the hot flesh of his cock nudged his stretched entrance. "You be in control, okay?"

Bill nodded again. How could Leonard sound so calm? Bill was already losing focus, and soon, all the adrenaline and desire and pleasure would overload his system, and he would completely lose track of himself. When he did, he could only hope Leonard would be there to catch him. Or maybe he should hope that they would fall together, clinging hard to one another, bound together no matter what happened.

Bill sank backward, forcing Leonard's thick shaft into his body. He didn't stop. He didn't let himself hesitate. He let Leonard fill him in a single thrust. At first, the pain was stunning, but then it dulled into something familiar, into an ache that he could live with. Leonard wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, and their mouths slammed together again.

That endless black, the heavy darkness, haunted him. Except, in that moment, it was pushed from his mind. Locked in Leonard's arms, full of Leonard, tasting Leonard, surrounded by Leonard, the darkness couldn't touch him. It could all be dismissed as a bad dream. He curled his fingers into Leonard's shoulders, gripping him with all his strength, comforted by the pressure of flesh against flesh. Leonard held his hips, but didn't try to control him. He had told Bill that he was in charge, and he had apparently meant it.

"Thank you," Bill whispered.

"You don't have to...."

"I do. I do every single day. So you better get used to hearing it."

"Very well. You're welcome."

Bill smiled and began to move. He didn't want to lose a single inch of Leonard's length, so he merely rocked in a slow rhythm. Having been rescued from Hell, Bill thought he might have found a way to touch Heaven.

 


End file.
